


Bright Lights and Paying Customers

by Camunki



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BUT ALSO FLUFF SOMETIMES, Dark, Diverges at Theatricality, Diverges during Season 1, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, God I hope I haven't missed anything, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, No Actual Character Death, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Really dark, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, lots of fucked up stuff, so much hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camunki/pseuds/Camunki
Summary: It's the six-year anniversary of Kurt Hummel's apparent suicide, and Dave is drowning his sorrow in alcohol and rent boys. But when he finds a drug-addicted prostitute that looks eerily like his high school crush, he just can't let it go.Kurtofsky, Kurt/Karofsky, AU.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky, Kurt Hummel/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm finally migrating this over because I want this fic to be somewhere other than FFN, and I'm on a bit of a Glee surge right now. So, yes, this is a VERY old fic, however there are a few things I wasn't quite happy with the first time around, so I'm rewriting a few scenes here and there.
> 
> Anyway, I intend to upload this on a day by day basis or two per day, whatever I can manage to edit.
> 
> This fic is dark as hell, please check the tags before reading and see end notes for more warnings for this specific chapter.

**_Prologue_ **

There’s shouting and screaming about privacy partitions and underwear. There’s yelling and throwing lampshades and _words_.

Burt Hummel isn’t home to interrupt them, and so they fight on. The yelling stops, but now Kurt’s quieter, angry in a seething way. Finn is rambling in a fit of rage about why Kurt has to be _different,_ why he can’t just _fit in_ , _like the rest of us do._

And then he says it.

It’s funny, how one little word can mean so much. Back then Dave Karofsky never really understood the immense power words can have, because he never knew how to use them like Kurt did. Words like _Neanderthal_ and _hamhock_ were things he directed at Dave the way the jock said _fag_ and _homo,_ but Dave had never been able to figure out which one of them was hurting more.

But this is different. Wait, no. It’s kind of the same: it’s because Kurt loves Finn that it hurts so much. He’s been saying _faggy_ for the better part of fifteen minutes now, insulting all of Kurt’s hard work. But he hasn’t gone full out and said it yet, actually said it _about_ Kurt.

And then, crunch time.

“Why do you have to be such a…” he trails off, and Kurt is staring at him. Not in a shocked kind of way; now his eyes are fixed, firm, furious.

“Go on and say it.” He whispers, low and angry. His shoulders are shaking and he’s almost crying, but without tears. _“Just say it,_ Finn.” It’s a demand, and even though he doesn’t want to hear it, he knows he has to. He knows that Finn means it, even if he stopped before the word came out.

“…such a _fag_.” Finn says, and Kurt is convinced he can feel his heart breaking. Finn can see it in his eyes almost immediately, but he doesn’t piece it together. He knows Kurt loved him, loves him, will always love him, maybe not in the way he should, but always. But he thinks that maybe this has to happen, maybe he needs to confront Kurt, let him know that it… _they_ are never going to be.

The silence is thick and heavy. It suffocates Kurt. He can barely breathe; it’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, but Finn’s standing there just _fine,_ just fucking _perfect_ as always.

And it hurts so badly. That he’s so perfect, so _normal._ He asks why Kurt has to be like this, why he has to stick out but Kurt wants to scream at him that it’s not his _choice!_ He would give anything to be like Finn, to be able to fit in.

Kurt wants him; he wants to be him. When did those two merge into one?

But he knows that he’s different. Heck, it’s the best thing about him. He’s proud of it, proud of his girly voice and feminine features. Proud that he’s lithe because he works hard for it, maybe not in the same way the others do, but he tries. Proud because his hair is always immaculate in the way that the average heterosexual guy would never bother achieving.

Proud. Loud. Out.

“I’ll get rid of it,” he says, quietly, almost incoherent because of his choked sobbing. “All of it…all of the…” he pauses for a gulp of air, “ _faggy_ decorations.”

If Finn happened to be a little smarter, he might be able to realize the unsaid words at the end of his sentence:

_“Including me.”_

* * *

****

**_One_ **

The 21st of February, 2016.

The six-year anniversary of Kurt Hummel’s death.

No, not death. Suicide. It’s better to think of it that way, more honest. Because that’s what it was, not murder nor an accident: _suicide._ At least, that’s what the cops called it and who’s Dave to question them?

Only, asking questions is his job now and he can’t help but wonder. So, he takes another swig of whatever the hell is in his glass and tries to avoid the whole thinking thing in general.

David Karofsky is on the wrong side of twenty-two and drinking his way to oblivion in commemoration of Kurt Hummel’s dea– _suicide._ This is a tradition he’s kept for the last six years, despite only being legally able to drink for the last two. It took him a couple of years to even figure why he does it, why Kurt’s death means so much to him that he has to get pissed out of his mind.

This tradition has always included a copious amount of alcohol and a hangover so bad that suicide nearly seems a viable solution. However, Dave has, in the more recent years, added another custom: to fuck the brains out of the best Kurt look-a-like he can possibly hire. A slightly more complex task, sure, but with the amount of alcohol coursing through his system on these particular evenings, most skinny rent boys resemble Kurt at least a little. Brown hair and green or blue eyes: that’s all he asks for; it isn’t much. Mark said there were three to choose from so he looked at the blurry pictures and picked the middle one – a “Lee”, no surname, just Lee. He looked so much like Kurt it was almost scary but Dave knows that’s just his mind playing tricks on him. Besides, he hasn’t seen Kurt in six years; he barely remembers that face. Even the yearbook photo he has of him in Glee Club is faded and, of course, vandalized. It’s impossible to look at it without feeling guilty for so many reasons.

Dave wonders how old this particular rent boy is. He’s not exactly proud of it, but he’s been to Mark before. Only once or twice, when he’s really desperate, because he’s heard rumors of some nasty business of underage ‘employees’ and on more than one occasion people have said that almost every one of them is an addict. Not that it’s surprising, Dave is perfectly aware that people don’t generally choose that lifestyle without a damn good reason for it. Or, really, most of them don’t choose it at all. Of course, he’s always really fucking careful, so it’s not a big deal.

Honestly, he tries not to think about it too much. The alcohol helps.

Dave is nearly too drunk to think by the time Mark’s boy turns up to let him fuck away his pains for the night. Nearly.

“Mr. Adams?” Heh, he’d forgotten that he’d used Azimio’s last name for this. Oops. Dave turns to see the man he’s going to fuck all night and his breath catches in his throat.

He looks even more like Kurt than he did in the photo. Sure, the guy is slimmer than Kurt was, maybe even _gaunt_ , and his hair is longer, darker, rougher, and his jaw is much more defined and Kurt’s voice was way higher and squeakier than this man’s, but there’s something there, something…

…It’s the eyes, Dave realizes. Those blue-green- what was the word- glass? No, _glasz._ Those eyes that Dave always scolded himself for noticing. After all, it’s so _gay_ to notice a guy’s eyes.

But there they are. And Dave lets out a choked noise because he’s pretty much positive he’ll be screaming Kurt’s name as this boy makes him come.

Who was he kidding? He _always_ screams Kurt’s name.

“Yeah, I’m your guy.” Dave says; groans. A low, mournful delivery to a line that sounds like it comes from the start of a very cliché porno.

“Well, aren’t you a cheery one?” The whore quips dryly. “Well, come on then Chuckles, unless you intend to wine and dine me first.”

Dave murmurs a reply and stands, already feeling unsteady on his feet. The boy raises his eyebrows and Dave briefly wonders if Lee is secretly hoping he doesn’t make it back to the motel conscious.

“What do I call you?” Lee asks, apparently ignoring his less than sober state and seizing him by the arm. Dave gives a brief smirk at the question – he hadn’t asked his name, but rather invited him to share his fake name. What is his fake name again? Shit. He’s forgotten.

“Uh.” A pause. “Simon. Call me Simon.”

“I’m Lee.” is the response he receives, in a voice almost as fake as the smile that crosses his face. “But you can call me whatever you want, big boy.” It’s painfully rehearsed but Dave can’t bring himself to care. He lets the guy carry on with his act.

“I’ll call a cab.” Dave murmurs, and he does so. The whore – _God,_ it still feels rude to think of them like that, but that’s what he is – regards him coolly as he makes the call. They sit in silence as they wait, after Lee tries to make small-talk and Dave answers curtly and practically orders him to shut up.

The drive back to the hotel is slightly less awkward. Dave lets Lee make his small-talk and answers politely but not generously. He can tell that Lee is trying his best, and he doesn’t want to seem rude, but the alcohol makes it difficult to resist spilling his guts out, which is something he _really_ wants to avoid.

They reach the hotel… or is it a motel? Dave never did know the difference. The place is half-decent, considering its location. This isn’t exactly a red-light district but it might as well be, since they rent rooms by the hour. Dave has his room booked until noon tomorrow; he’s paid for Lee all night and whilst he expects the prostitute to leave as soon as dawn hits, Dave intends to sleep in so as to delay the effects of the inevitable hangover.

The receptionist is a peroxide blond woman who seems largely silicon based and looks more like a whore than Lee does. The nameplate on her left monstrosity of a breast reads ‘Michella’, Dave quickly decides isn’t a real name and if it is, it’s stupid. She’s chewing gum and Dave can smell the Juicy Fruit from where he’s standing. She glances up as they walk in – from Dave to Lee, who offers a charming smile. Dave gets the feeling he’s been here before.

“I have a room booked under Adams.” Dave says, not bothering with chatter. The woman presses three buttons on the computer and hands Dave a key without saying a word. Dave wonders if it’s because she’s incapable of chewing gum and talking at the same time – or if she just doesn’t want to be here. Probably the latter.

Lee follows Dave down the hall like a puppy, he’s also notably quiet. Then, just as Dave realizes he’s gone in the wrong direction (Thank you, Michella), he raises a hand and points silently towards another corridor. Dave glares at him, blaming the alcohol.

Stumbling slightly, he finally finds the door and manages not to embarrass himself opening it. He holds open the door for Lee and he strolls in, Dave shuts the door behind him and puts on the safety latch with a hint of paranoia. Lee is standing in the dark, until Dave presses all the switches and they’re both blinded by a surge of light.

Dave’s heart threatens to stop entirely as he sees Lee clearly for the first time. _It’s been too long_ , he tells himself, _you’re going crazy_ …but he’s Kurt. Well, obviously he’s _not_ Kurt, but he looks so much like the warped mental image he has of Kurt, that it might as well be him.

“Are you okay?” Lee asks, and Dave does a reality check. This isn’t Kurt; Kurt is dead and he didn’t have a twin, this is just someone who happens to look a lot like him. Hell, he probably _doesn’t,_ Dave thinks, but he’s just too drunk to tell. 

“How do you want to do this?” Lee seems unfazed that Dave isn’t answering him. Dave shakes himself out of his daze and focuses on Lee. This isn’t about getting lost in memories, it’s about... Well, it _is_ about getting lost in memories, really. But he’s here to get off when it comes down to it and he’s not about to get distracted by the fact that this prostitute looks more like Kurt than he expected.

“Come here.” Dave walks over to the bed, beckoning Lee over. Lee drops his bag at the end of the bed and sits down. “Kiss me.” Dave commands, and then pauses, “You do kissing, right?” Lee gives a strained smile at that, and nods.

He leans in, only to feel Lee’s lips on his, soft but prying. It feels, _fuck_ , it feels fantastic. Lee’s hand cups his cheek as he kisses Dave slowly with the occasional increase in pressure that makes his stomach twist. Pulling away, he gives Dave just enough time to get his breath back before he goes for a deeper kiss, his saliva mixing with Dave’s, sucking on Dave’s tongue, and running his along Dave’s teeth.

Dave realizes his eyes are closed tightly, and opens them as he pulls back again, staring into Kurt’s big blue-green ones.

 _Shit._ Not Kurt, _Lee_. Even if this is about Kurt, he can’t get too invested in the fantasy too much – it’ll just make things so much harder when he wakes up alone tomorrow.

Another soft kiss. This is getting too hard. And not in the literal sense, though that too is becoming a problem. “Shit.” Dave whispers, and then says it again, and again, and again.

“Is that a expletive or an order?” He asks, and Dave has to stop and wonder whether he’s joking or not. Apparently he is, judging by the way he begins to kiss Dave’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” He says, pushing Lee away gently. “You…Fuck, you look too much like him.”

“Like who?” There’s a look of curiosity in his eye, but also something more. Maybe a hint of panic.

“Like a guy I used to know. He…” Dave doesn’t want to say it; never does.

“What?”

Dave swallows back a choke, “He died. This night…I do this every year, on the day he died to…I don’t know, to try and forget him…I don’t know.”

Now Lee looks more confused than ever. “Mark said you saw my photo-“

“Yeah. I chose you because you look like him.” He shakes his head to try and clear it. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Lee was supposed to just leave it at that and let Dave leave or something, before he says too much.

“Then why-“

“Because you look _identical_ to him. It’s…Shit, I can’t do this.” Dave hunches over and rubs his temples. He doesn’t want to look at Lee anymore, doesn’t want to see Kurt there, doesn’t want to remember anymore because it hurts too much.

Lee just stares at him, seemingly unaware of his internal conflict. “You do know Mark doesn’t give refunds, right?” he says nonchalantly, like he’s trying to ignore the whole outburst.

“I know.” Dave still doesn’t look up. Lee continues to study him with curiosity, and then moves from the middle of the bed to join Dave in perching on the edge. He leans in close, pressing his side against Dave’s. Neither of them move.

“What was his name?” Lee asks, softly. “The boy who died. What was his name?”

“Kurt.” Dave whispers, and even the name feels sour on his lips. “Kurt Hummel.” He can’t help but whimper slightly as he says it.

The other man tenses up almost immediately. For a second he says nothing, but when he glances to the side, Dave can see his eyes narrowed, surveying him. Eventually, he speaks. “He must have meant a lot to you.”

“Actually, I barely knew him.”

“Then why-“

“He was the only out gay guy in our school. He was the only other gay guy I knew. And he…God, he was so beautiful. He was like a model or something, the way he dressed and moved. The other guys used to say he looked weird but…I think I was in love with him.” He’s really drunk; he must be really drunk, to be saying so much. Fuck, why is he such a blabby drunk?

“You were sixteen.” Lee’s tone shows he’s cynical, and Dave doesn’t blame him; it sounds laughable to him too.

“You didn’t know him. I was straight before I met him.” Lee’s eyes widen in surprise. “I’m kidding. But it wasn’t until I met him that I really _knew,_ you know? I’d wondered about it before but I’d never really thought of a guy that way until…’’, he trails off, and then clears his throat. “And then he killed himself.”

“How tragic.” Lee says, dryly. Dave ignores him.

“He was my Ophelia.” Dave tries to make a joke, but it comes out sounding far too wistful and Lee chokes back a laugh. “Okay, not a perfect comparison, but you know what I mean.”

“Ophelia loved Hamlet.” Lee points out, and leans back on his hands. Dave doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s gorgeous, despite the obvious marks of malnutrition and…something else he can’t put his finger on.

“Yeah, well, he hated me. Not that I blame him…I mean, I bullied him, for fuck’s sake. I was probably one of the reasons he…” A cough. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. Tonight’s supposed to be about forgetting him.”

“And yet, here you are with me, the lookalike.” Dave doesn’t reply so Lee flips over and straddles his lap. Then, he cups his face with a soft hand. “Close your eyes.” Dave’s eyebrows furrow. “Dave, close your eyes.” He lays a gentle kiss on his forehead and drops his voice down to a whisper. “Tonight, I’ll be Kurt. Just for you, I’m Kurt.”

Dexterous fingers work his shirt buttons as Lee kisses down his neck. “Say my name.” Lee orders with a breathy voice.

“Kurt.” Dave groans as Lee rolls his hips down into his lap. “Kurt.” Then the whore’s fingers are at his jean button and he’s muttering something about needing him to stand up, so he hops off the bed and Lee follows, tugging down his jeans. He knows that clients prefer not to be fully undressed when he’s still wearing clothes, so he stands in front of Dave and wiggles his shoulders slightly. Dave’s hands are on him before he can even react, and Lee wants to tell him to watch the buttons but he keeps his mouth shut other than to moan softly as Dave works his hands over his chest and nipples.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dave’s voice is soft and appreciative, but laced with something sadder – yearning for something lost. He hasn’t quite bought into the illusion yet. So, Lee kisses him on the lips, _gently_ , not the way he usually kisses clients, if he actually lets them kiss him. He kisses him tenderly and whispers in his ear and touches him with light fingers.

Then: rougher, harder, hotter _._ Kisses turn to bites and pecks turn to tongues. Lee can’t help but moan as Dave rolls his hips and for a moment he lets himself get lost in the feelings. The moment passes quickly, and he remembers that he’s supposed to be pleasuring the client: this isn’t just sex, this is his fucking _job_ and he can’t let himself get carried away because of...well, _anything._

He kneels, not wanting to look at Dave’s face any more. Then, he pulls down his boxers; Dave is bulging and leaking and a fine specimen, Lee would know. He reaches for his bag and pulls out a condom and a tube, setting the latter aside for the moment, and then watching Dave roll the condom onto himself. Lee takes him in one hand and lowers his head. “Oh God,” he hears from above him – the usual response. This is Lee’s specialty. He kisses the head softly, as Dave’s hands tangle in his hair, and then takes him whole in his mouth, ignoring the minor reaction from his almost trained away gag-reflex. His tongue slides along the head, then flattens against the length of it as he sucks and hums and groans, daring to risk very softly grasping his balls. He works his mouth around Dave’s cock, hollowing out his cheeks in an obscene manner, before a sharp tug to his hair makes him draw back with a lewd pop. Spit drips down his chin but he licks it away with a dart of the tongue.

“I want to fuck you.” Dave says, bluntly. Lee knows he’s still a little drunk; he hopes so, at least. He fumbles for the tube, and then squeezes some of the liquid onto his fingers. Dave is staring at him, too, barely paying attention to himself. Lee reaches around and begins to slide in a finger, but Dave stops him. “Let me.” He murmurs, and Lee stops, passing him the lube with a hint of hesitation. Lee usually does this bit himself, half because he doesn’t always trust the clients to do it properly, and if he gets hurt, he can’t work for a few days. Also, customers don’t usually care if they do this part, unless they’re into dry fingering and want to see him react.

Dave coats his fingers in lube – _all_ of his fingers, Lee notes – and starts prepping him. He doesn’t bother with a single finger, opting to push in his forefinger and middle finger immediately, twisting and wriggling as he does. Lee shudders; Dave’s fingers are long, big and rough. He presses back into him as Dave pushes another finger in, trying not to pay attention to how Dave eyes are fixed on him. At the fourth finger, Lee wants to tell him he doesn’t _need_ this much prep, but then Dave is pulling away, leaving Lee wanting more. It’s unusual; he doesn’t often get so into it.

Lee thought that Dave would have wilted a little but as he spreads more lube over his cock, he’s harder than ever. Lee stares at him with wide, lusty eyes, his face a perfect picture of lechery. He waits, as Dave groans how much he wants him and tells him to lie on his back so he can see his face. _Kurt’s_ face. He kneels between Lee’s legs and Lee’s feet wrap around his back with the flexibility of a dancer…or a whore.

He presses in slowly, feeling Lee’s feet flex, the familiar heat engulfing him. Lee tenses for a second and then relaxes, allowing Dave to push in the whole way. _Fuck,_ it’s hot. Lee’s eyes are closed in what Dave assumes is pain, so Dave wraps his hands around his softening dick. Lee’s eyes open and he jerks in surprise; apparently he hadn’t been expecting that. Dave works Lee’s cock for a few seconds until he’s fully hard again, and pulls back, watching as Lee’s eyes close again, this time in pleasure.

He quickly thrusts in again, beginning to lose himself to the heat. He leans all the way forward so that their chests press against each other, and Lee easily stretches to the difficult position. They form a rhythm of movement, speeding up until Lee’s hips are no longer moving on their own, but being pushed by Dave’s.

It seems like the both of them lose track of time in the hot, sweaty thrusting. To call it passionate might not be entirely inaccurate; there’s an urgency that neither of them can explain, the kind of urgency that accompanies a quick fuck, but not the kind you pay good money for. There’s a fervor that doesn’t make sense, like they’re releasing some sort of tension that’s been building for years, like the sharp twang of an elastic band snapping.

Lee doesn’t mean to scream; screaming is so cliché and porny and he only does it when he thinks the clients will like it. But Dave thrusts in harder and harder until Lee is shuddering, the heat in his stomach is burning and Dave’s hand is so tight around him. The scream is torn out of him and before he knows it he’s a mess of cursing and moaning and he’s coming hard onto his and Dave’s stomachs.

It only takes another few thrusts before Dave’s own release catches him and Lee watches, eyes wide, as Dave tenses and bites down on his lip. Dave thrusts hard into Lee, ripping another moan out of him as he brushes against his oversensitive prostate. He feels the heat of Dave’s orgasm inside him, even through the latex. Dave pulls out, carefully, gripping and tying off the condom, throwing it aside before rolling over and collapsing on his back.

Lee sits up and waits for orders, but Dave is asleep within minutes. He studies the face of the man who just fucked him, sated and serene. Then, he lies back and feels his muscles relax. Usually, if a client passed out like this, he’d leave him right there and then. But Dave is out for the count and he _did_ pay for Lee until morning. For now, maybe a little sleeping company isn’t so bad. Said company is lovely and warm, after all, and familiar in the most twisted way. He curls against Dave’s body and lets sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Chapter 1:
> 
> Reference to suicide  
> Reference to major character death  
> Reference to drug use  
> Running away from home  
> Prostitution  
> Homophobia and homophobic language  
> Explicit sex


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just super depressing porn ✌️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so I continue my fic migration. 
> 
> Read the end notes for content warnings!

**_Two_ **

He isn’t going to call Mark, Dave tells himself two days later. It’s a once-a-year tradition, that’s all. He doesn’t hire prostitutes, that’s not like him. He’s going to be a fucking _lawyer;_ he can’t just casually break the law. This could be a risk to his degree, his career, and his whole life.

He isn’t going to call Mark.

He doesn’t need to see Lee again, doesn’t need more after that last glimpse of him dressing in the morning, the blurry recollection of the whore gathering his things and leaving with only a glance back to say goodbye. He shouldn’t be thinking about him, or recalling the fragments of the night that actually remain in his long-term memory. He shouldn’t be mentally comparing Lee with Kurt and thinking that maybe it wasn’t just the alcohol, maybe he did look that similar, and to wonder, to crave just to see his face again. He shouldn’t be doing this to himself. He can’t.

He goes into college for his morning class and sits though his lecture and doesn’t think of Lee. He writes down his notes robotically and as he leaves, he already knows he’s forgotten it all. He talks to his friends, smiles sympathetically at the girl who has a crush on him even though she knows he’s gay, and heads to the cafeteria for his lunch break.

He isn’t thinking about Lee.

Isn’t. Shouldn’t. Can’t. Doesn’t. In the end, everything points to it being wrong, everything inside of Dave knows it’s wrong and it’ll hurt and he _shouldn’t_ , but he does anyway. He ducks into the most private corner he can find and glances around to make sure no one’s listening.

He calls Mark.

“Hello?” Even his voice sounds sleazy, Dave notes. And that word, that one word means he’s failed. He’s not even sure what it is he’s failed at; self-control, perhaps, or maybe something more.

“Mark?” He speaks in a hushed tone, paranoid about being heard. Not that anyone cares whom he’s speaking to; he’s not exactly a celebrity around here. He keeps his head down, he has friends but no enemies, he does his work, stays out of trouble and he doesn’t break the law. Only, he’s also on the phone to a pimp, so there must be something wrong with that synopsis.

“Speaking?” Dave has never met Mark personally. He wonders what he looks like, if he’s big or small, ugly or handsome. Rich, probably, so perhaps he’d be well dressed, unless he’s one of those men who wear shitty clothes no matter how much money they have. Heck, Dave doesn’t even know if he would be rich; maybe the prostitution business has been hit by the WWIII crunch too.

“It’s, uh, it’s Mr. Adams. I, um…two days ago…” Oh, god, this is embarrassing. How is he supposed to word this? I fucked one of the guys you own? It’s wrong, the whole damn thing is wrong and fucked up and he really, really should not be doing this. But he’s already given over his name now and he’s already humiliated himself, so why not just go all the way?

“You hired Lee, right?” Mark replies, casually. Of course, this isn’t a big deal for him; he rents out boys on a daily basis. He can’t know how huge this is for a guy like Dave who has a fucking _ritual_ and has never broken it before. He has rules for a reason, because the rules keep him sane and safe. Once a year, that’s the first rule, once a fucking year and no more because he can’t afford to hurt himself any more than that.

“Yeah. I was…uh. Well.” He clears his throat, trying to get the words out. If he breaks the rules, where will he be afterwards? There’s no excuse for doing it again, no special day of mourning, no defense that it’s just on the 21st of May. No get out of jail free card when it comes to his guilt. Or hell, no get out of jail free card for actual jail if he’s caught.

“You want an encore?” Dave nods before feeling stupid and replying in the affirmative. An encore makes it sound like it’s linked to the first one, but…but still the same performance. That’s not so bad, because it’s still once a year, then, just with a little break for the band to recover. His rules hang by a fraying thread, but they’re still intact. “When do you want him?”

“Tonight?” Now he sounds too eager, like some virgin kid asking for a fuck. Dave’s sure Mark’s seen a fair few of those in his time.

“I’m afraid tonight he’s otherwise engaged.” Dave’s stomach tightens _. ‘He has a customer’_ goes unsaid. _‘He’s being fucked by another man’_ also isn’t said out loud, but Dave hears them both.

“Tomorrow night, then?” His voice is strained, but he tries to ignore the mental images of someone else taking the guy he’d slept with only days ago. He’s not used to sharing; his few relationships have always been exclusive, and, including the rent boys who _usually_ didn’t have this sort of effect on him, he’d never cared enough about any one night stands to feel any sort of jealousy.

“No problem.” Mark confirms, and Dave fires off the place and time, same as the last encounter. Then he says goodbye, not entirely sure how to end the exchange without feeling like he just bought something, even though he technically has. The conversation is short and sweet, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste in Dave’s mouth. He returns to his lunch, suddenly remarkably less hungry.

* * *

“Fancy running into you here.” There’s something familiar about this, other than the fact they’ve done it before, but Dave doesn’t know what. “Shall we?”

Lee looks just as much like Kurt when Dave is sober, as he had done the last time they met. Dave stares at him under the dodgy bar lighting and wonders if he really has gone mad with longing.

“Yeah.” He answers in a grumble, following Lee out of the door. They go to the same hotel and Dave books a room as the receptionist stares on blankly and chews her gum.

When they get in the room, Lee offers a nervous smile. “So, I thought this was a once a year thing.” he says, running his hand through his hair. “What’s with the encore?” Dave tries to ignore how Mark and Lee use the same phrase.

“I just wanted to see you again.” Dave admits quietly. It’s the closest to the truth he’s gotten so far, but he’s still not entirely sure why he’s so drawn to this man, even with his looks.

“See me?” Lee repeats, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You know what I mean.” Dave says. Lee nods in response, smiles sweetly, and then begins to undress. Dave doesn’t stop him, just watches as he strips down to his underwear. With flick of the eyes, he slips out of them and stands in front of Dave naked.

In the light, Dave can see everything. The pale peach skin, the pink nipples, the line of dark hair leading down into a trail of neatly trimmed pubic hair. It’s the only hair on his body, Dave notices, besides his head and the hair on his arms. He supposes Lee shaves the rest, probably to fit in with the kind of man his customers seek.

“Well, now you see me.” Lee says, still smiling. “What do you want?”

“Stay there.” Dave commands, and Lee does exactly that. Dave walks over to him and takes in his body. As he moves closer, he notices other things: Lee’s hair is unruly and knotted, like he’s in need of a haircut, there are dark circles under his eyes, he has one pierced ear and noticeable track marks on both arms. _That’s_ what he’d sensed about him before, why he looked so tired and worn.

Dave can’t imagine why a person would want to scar such a beautiful body, but he lifts up Lee’s left arm gingerly and examines the underside. He can tell Lee is uncomfortable with it, but he lets Dave do it anyway. When Dave drops his arm without saying a word, he lets out a small sigh of relief.

Dave focuses on his chest. It must be shaved, because it’s hairless and creamy white. The kid could use some sun; he’s practically glowing, and more in a _Twilight_ than _Baywatch_ kind of way. But, still, the paleness of his skin makes the light pink of his nipples stand out in the most obscene way. Dave takes one and rubs the nub between his fingers, watching as it hardens. A shiver runs through Lee’s body and Dave glances down; he’s already hardening. His nipples must be a quite the erogenous zone for Lee.

He leaves behind two hard pink nubs and trails down to grasp Lee’s erection, feeling it twitch in his hands. After jerking it a few times, a tiny, pearly drop of pre-cum gathers at the head and Dave spreads it with his thumb. He can sense that Lee wants to move, wants to do something to regain control, but he stays perfectly still. He must have gone through much worse than this before.

“Touch yourself.” Now, apparently that’s a command Lee has had in the past, because there’s no surprise in his eyes as he reaches down to where Dave’s hand had been a moment before.

“On the bed.” Dave instructs, and Lee follows the directions, padding over to the bed and waiting as Dave strips off his clothes quickly. He moves over to the bed himself and stands over it, watching Lee lie back and take himself in his hand. He studies Lee’s ministrations, the way his hands grip his cock, the speed, the varying movement. He notices that he grips the base much harder than the head, and that his hips buck harder when he softly brushes the slit of the head. His hand slinks up to fondle a nipple and he groans, making Dave’s stomach twist in arousal. He reaches down to touch himself too, it’s probably strange considering the circumstances, but he soon pumps his dick to full arousal. He slips a condom out of his jean pocket from the floor and fumbles around in Lee’s bag for lube, not particularly caring that it’s probably an invasion of his privacy.

He chucks a bottle of lube at Lee and rolls on the condom as he watches Lee spreads the slick substance over his fingers. Moving onto his front, he slips a finger inside himself, never breaking eye contact with Dave. Usually Dave would be more interested in watching the other end of the process, but here Dave’s not looking at Lee’s fingers as they slide and thrust, instead focusing solely on his expression. His face is flushed from either arousal or embarrassment, or perhaps a combination of both.

His eyes are glued to Lee’s face, but all he sees is Kurt Hummel staring up at him.

He’s seen enough. He pushes Lee down and settles behind him, and now all he can distinguish is the back of his head, with that knotted hair and the all too visible spine jutting out of his back. From here, it’s easy to perceive that this isn’t Kurt; this is just some rent boy that happens to look a little like him. Somehow, however, this doesn’t put him any more at ease.

He closes his eyes when he thrusts in. He’d like to think it’s because of the pleasure but it’s mostly just so he doesn’t have to look anymore. He can’t tell if Lee’s in pain or enjoying himself and, frankly, right now he doesn’t care. It’s not Kurt, so Dave doesn’t have to work to make his lover feel good, this is just a transaction; Lee is here for his use and that’s it.

He plunges deeper and deeper and when Lee makes a gasping choke of a noise, Dave’s eyes snap open. Lee’s back is arched obscenely and his fingers are clawing at the bed. The hand that Dave didn’t even realize he had around Lee’s dick tightens and Lee makes the noise again. Dave wonders how long he’s been moving on autopilot and judges it must have been a while considering how close he feels. A deeper thrust, and Lee starts to make another sound, a deeper, guttural moan, but he cuts himself off. Dave assumes he’s biting his lip or something because he can’t hear the heavy breathing either.

He leans forward so that his chest is snug against Lee’s back, and brings his mouth to the back of his neck. “Let it out.” He says, his voice more husky than he expected, “You can be as loud as you want.”

“ _Fuck!”_ is Lee’s immediate response, before he lets out a long, low groan and arches back even further. The sound is so bestial that Dave can’t help but moan in reply, and continues to thrust harder and move his hand faster around Lee. But Lee’s started now and there’s no stopping him cursing and moaning. Dave thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, even if it’s probably fake.

“Fuck, Dave!” Lee’s hips judder as he tries to thrust into Dave’s grip. “Oh _god,_ oh god, Dave, _fuck!”_ It sounds like porn, but the better paid, half-decently acted kind that Dave prefers, not that he’s too fussy when it comes down to it.

Dave knows Lee is close; the guy is shuddering violently and seems to have lost control of his lower body. His legs nearly give out beneath him and Dave literally slams him into the mattress, before he regains his balance and perfectly times jutting his ass back with a particularly hard thrust. Dave’s orgasm hits him before he can even comprehend it, his eyes closing again, and groaning out something that could be a name or could be a swear word. He rides it out, for a moment forgetting that he has Lee in what’s now probably a painfully tight grip, but as he goes to loosen it he realizes from the twitching mess beneath him that Lee is coming too.

He waits until Lee has stopped shuddering and rolls onto his back, wondering if this is how it feels to finish a marathon. His whole body is spent and he’s not even sure why, since he’s lasted a lot longer before and been a lot rougher. But still, his breath is coming in gasps, there’s sweat rolling down him and his heart feels like it’s trying to set a world speed record.

Lee lies there beside him and Dave has to admit, he’s certainly something. The way he bent to accommodate Dave, the beautiful body, the delicious way he moaned out Dave’s name…

 _Wait_.

“You called me Dave.” Dave says, quietly, and then louder, “I introduced myself as Simon, but all this time, you’ve been calling me _Dave.”_ He sits up suddenly, despite his lack of energy and stares at Lee, whose body has gone rigid, and not in the good way.

“What of it?” He says, also moving to sit, and flicking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Maybe I stole your phone and read your messages.” He won’t meet Dave’s eyes, and, fuck, if being at law school hasn’t at least taught him how to recognize blatant lies, what has it taught him? Dave feels like the kid who just finally understood a joke, hours after it had been told; the dumb one that everyone makes fun of.

“My phone is password locked.” Dave answers quickly, and Lee’s hands start to shake slightly. The floor seems to be doing something extremely interesting because his eyes are fixed there, unmoving.

“Mark told me.” He says in a failed attempt to sound nonchalant.

“I told Mark my name was Simon Adams.” Dave counters. He isn’t yielding, because he knows there’s something going on here. Hell, he’s always known, he’s just been ignoring it because of its utter absurdity, but it’s so damn obvious, isn’t it? Of _course_ it’s Kurt. If you take away the apparent fact that Kurt is dead, there’s no denying it. Then again, that’s not a particularly easy fact to ignore.

“It isn’t?” Lee’s eyes go even wider, if it’s possible, but this time it’s insincere, almost too overt to point out, but Dave knows he has to.

“Don’t act innocent, Kurt.” Dave tries to sound gentle, but somehow his voice comes out as threatening. Somehow he _feels_ threatening. There’s this anger clawing at his stomach like an animal, this anger he can’t explain. Maybe it’s because all these years, he’s been living a lie, existing in memory of a guy who threw his life away, but in a totally different way than Dave had thought.

“My name isn’t–”

“Oh, cut the crap.”

Lee bristles, stands up and starts throwing on his clothes. He’s panicking. He’s _caught._

“I’m not Kurt. You’re confused. I knew I shouldn’t have indulged that fantasy of yours.” He doesn’t look at Dave, instead concentrating on the buttons on his shirt, trying to do them up with shaking hands. He doesn’t get very far.

“You’re not fooling me, Kurt.” Dave stands too, at least half a head taller than him and much wider too. He’s grown since high school, enough that he’d be a serious threat to anyone of Lee’s stature. Lee starts for the door, no, _bolts_ for the door, and without thinking, Dave grabs his arms and holds him tight. The smaller man makes a yowl of anger and fights him with all his strength, writhing and screeching, but Dave is stronger.

“You’re crazy! Let me go!” Lee screams, tears now running down his face. Dave doesn’t stop to wonder if they’re real, can’t stop because Lee is still trying to fight him off.

“ _Kurt Hummel.”_ Dave hisses, staring him right in his eyes, which are bluer than ever and wet with tears. His gaze is met for the slightest of moments, and Dave can see the sheer horror there. It’s enough to make him loosen his grip ever so slightly.

“ _Let me go!”_ Lee kicks him hard in the shin and when Dave draws back in response with a curse, he struggles free. “I’m not…I’m not Kurt. Please, please, Dave…You’re confused. You should just go home.”

“I’m not confused! I know who you are! You thought I wouldn’t know, that I wouldn’t recognize you?!” Dave practically screams at him and before he can even think it through, he’s trapped Lee again and Lee is trying to claw his way out of Dave’s muscular grip.

He pins Lee against the wall and when their bodies press together, he can feel the heat between them despite it all. Lee struggles, sobs, lashes out with his hands and kicks his legs but he’s weaker than Dave, he can’t break free a second time.

“Please, please let me go! You’re hurting me!” He chokes out, his voice wracked with sobs. His eyes are closed and he’s shaking harder than ever, his face flushed and his lips bright red. He looks absurdly beautiful.

“Tell the truth!” Dave screams at him. Lee says nothing, but one of his hands gets loose and there’s a sharp _crunch_. Dave drops him, maybe because of the blinding pain, maybe because of the blood streaming down his face. Lee jumps from his grip and Dave can’t see him because he’s wincing.

“I thought you’d _changed._ ” He hears, and he opens his eyes despite the pain. Lee stands before him, shaking, but standing firmly, his face set in a sneer. “But I guess you’re still the brutish Neanderthal you always were.”

Six years on, and the insult still stings. Dave flinches, and not from the broken nose. “Kurt–”

But Kurt’s already out the door. Dave stands, naked, holding his bloody nose, and tries to work things out in his head. Because Kurt Hummel is _alive_ , he’s here in the city and he’s a goddamn _whore._

And Dave Karofsky has screwed things up all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Chapter 2:
> 
> Prostitution  
> Reference to drug use  
> Explicit sex  
> Intimidation  
> Bit of violence


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨✨Things get worse and woooorse...✨✨
> 
> If you like pain and suffering, this is the place for you!
> 
> This chapter is very plot heavy. Like, ridiculously plot heavy. And apparently in 2011 I thought that the world was going to go to shit in different ways than it did??
> 
> PLEASE read the content warnings in the end notes if you think any of the stuff in this chapter might affect you. It's heavy.

**_Three_ **

“Mark – hey, it’s Simon Adams.” Dave waits until the next day to call, giving him time to cool off and stop bleeding. He looks a right sight now, nose reset and plastered at the hospital, blaming it on a bar-brawl. The bruising isn’t too bad (Kurt seems to have made a clean break, Dave notes bitterly,) but damn if it doesn’t hurt.

“Lee told me he doesn’t want you to meet with him again.” Mark’s tone is cool, not threatening. “Did you hurt him? I don’t tolerate violence towards my boys unless they consent.” _Unless they consent,_ Dave thinks bitterly, _of course._

“No! I…we had a bit of an argument. I’d like to apologize.” He tries to sound convincing, but he’s sure he just sounds suspicious.

“An argument? If Lee was being uncooperative…” Mark’s voice suddenly switches to that of a man trying to appease a customer. It makes Dave’s stomach churn slightly, thinking of himself as a customer.

“Nothing like that.” Dave cuts him off. No use getting Kurt into trouble. “I just want another night.”

There’s silence on the line, then, “I have to respect his wishes too, Mr. Adams.”

And this is when Dave realizes what kind of man Mark is. Well, obviously he knew what kind of man Mark was before, but he’s starting to really get the measure of him now.

“I’ll pay double.” Dave says firmly, and he can practically hear the other man surrendering.

This is _not_ what he’s supposed to be spending his savings on. He’s supposed to be saving for a house in Lima for next year, when he gets his placement. He’s supposed to be saving for a new car. He’s supposed to be saving for his _future,_ but somehow, when compared to Kurt, the future seems so unnecessary.

“Very well, then. He’s not busy tonight.” _He’d better not be, for that price._ “I’ll book you for the normal time.”

“Tell him to meet me at the hotel.” Dave says, his heart already hammering at the thought of seeing Kurt again.

“I’ll do that. Good night, Mr. Adams.”

Yes, Dave thinks he has the measure of Mark down just perfectly.

* * *

When Kurt turns up that night, he’s… _off,_ somehow.

He practically jumps Dave the moment he sees him and he welcomes him with a big, filthy grin. Dave came straight to the hotel this time, and Kurt practically drags him into a room after Dave tries to subtly pick up his key.

“Come on, then, big boy!” Kurt laughs as soon as they’re in the room, and before Dave knows it, Kurt’s hands are brushing over his crotch. He jerks away, but Kurt is undeterred. “And you _are_ big, aren’t you? Ha! If I’d known _that_ in High School…” He has a sort of lopsided grin now that still looks flirty but has a tinge of danger to it.

For a moment, Dave thinks he’s drunk. But he’s not slurring, he’s walking fine, he just seems like he’s running at a hundred miles per hour. Dave’s not stupid; he sees his blown pupils, remembers the track marks and puts it all together.

“Well, are you going to fuck me or not?” Kurt huffs, grinding his hips against Dave. “You know, some of my clients have really small dicks. Guess they just can’t get it anywhere else. But _you…_ I hadn’t cum _that_ hard in a while. You really know how to please a guy. And you got a good body too, I don’t know why you need to _hire_ a fuck. Wave _that_ thing around a little and men’d be gagging for it.” He presses forward again. “ _I’m_ kind of gagging for it, and I’ve seen bigger. _Some_ of my clients are big. Some of them are _too_ big, you know? The kind of big that makes other men run like the fucking wind ‘cause that _hurts_ if you don’t do it right…”

Dave wonders if Kurt knows he’s blabbering like a fool. He can’t seem to find words to stop him.

“But you’re not _too_ big, not for me anyway. Why is it you need to buy your one-night stands then? Is it your personality? I remember it being pretty _grating_ , that’s for sure.” It takes Dave a moment to realize Kurt’s waiting for an answer.

“Most guys don’t like it when you call out other guys’ names, even if they are one-night stands.” He says, his jaw set. He probably sounds pretty hostile, but Kurt doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about your long lost love. Bet you take it all back now?” He smiles bitterly. “Bet you don’t think I’m your _Ophelia_ now!” He lets out a low laugh, and Dave stares him down. “I suppose you want to know what happened.”

“I’m more than a little curious.” Dave admits. His hands are still around Kurt’s shoulders from trying to push him off, and they seem to have fallen into a position somewhat similar to a slow dance.

“Well,” and here Kurt leans in and breathes in Dave’s ear. Dave can smell his breath and recognizes the scent of Juicy Fruit gum. “I’m not telling you. You can go fuck yourself.”

Dave rolls his eyes, shoving Kurt back. Kurt smiles sweetly and walks over to the bed as if he’s going to sit down, but changes his mind and stands there, staring. “I paid double for tonight, you know that?” Dave says, in a tone that betrays no emotions at all.

Kurt’s face twists in confusion, and then the grin spreads over him again. In most situations, Dave would find it cute – Kurt never grinned in high school and it was obvious why: it makes him look very young and kind of goofy. “Well, then, you can go fuck _me!”_ He says, and clearly thinks he’s being exceptionally clever. _“_ You’d better get your money’s worth and fuck me sooner rather than later, though.”

“You’re high, aren’t you?” Dave asks without a hint of humor. The word doesn’t seem to cover it quite right but Dave’s no expert in drugs; he can’t tell what Kurt’s on, all he can tell is that’s he on something.

“Maybe a little.” He laughs again, but Dave thinks it sounds hollow. “What, you think I chose this career for its great dental plan?”

“It was a choice?” Dave asks, not without a hint of mocking.

“So many fucking _questions!_ Are you going to fuck me or am I going to have to do it myself?” Dave isn’t quite sure what he means by that, but he’s determined to get the truth out of Kurt.

“I didn’t bring you here to have sex with you.” He says, not backing down. Kurt raises an eyebrow, and leans in closer. Their faces are inches apart and Dave craves to lean in and close the gap. 

“But you still want to, don’t you? You want me.” He’s so close Dave can almost feel him and as he draws out the words, his eyes flick down to Kurt’s parted, lips. His tongue darts out to lick his own lips nervously.

“I already had you twice.” He says, scornfully, his eyes fixed on Kurt.

“And yet, here we are.” Kurt draws out the words slowly, torturously. 

“To talk.” Dave grits his teeth, but doesn’t move.

Kurt lets out a groan of frustration and pushes away from Dave, starting to pace the room. “To _fuck.”_ He announces, accusingly, swinging around and pointing his forefinger at Dave.

“You never used to swear.” Dave comments dryly, ignoring how Kurt can’t seem to stop moving.

“You never used to have sex with men.” Kurt counters almost instantly, with a sneer. “Funny how things change.”

“This isn’t about–”

“Oh, will you just shut up?” Kurt surges forward and presses his mouth against Dave’s and Dave wants to push him away, he really does, but he just can’t seem to. Instead, he’s kissing back, and grabbing Kurt’s hair and bucking against him.

He knows it’s wrong, and he knows that there is no excuse for this but Kurt _does_ something to him, something he can’t explain. Something that makes the rest of the world seem oddly insignificant, like Kurt is the only thing that exists, the only think that can ever mean anything. Even in High School, Dave was drawn to him, couldn’t stay away from him, even if that meant shoving him into a locker or calling him names. If you had asked Kurt, he would have told you that Dave was a bully, but in Dave’s eyes, Kurt had always held the power over him, in a twisted, fucked up kind of way.

They press together and Dave can feel Kurt’s hardness push into his leg. He’s sure Kurt can feel his too, and he briefly wonders how Kurt manages to get him so aroused so quickly. Briefly, because the next second, he’s pushing Kurt down onto the bed, still fully clothed, and climbing on top of him. Kurt looks curious as to why neither of them is naked, but goes with it, kissing down Dave’s neck and nipping at the skin he can reach at Dave’s collarbone.

Dave settles between Kurt’s legs and thrusts against him, tangling his fingers in Kurt’s hair. It feels so good just to hold him, to touch him and know he’s _real,_ he’s alive, not just another fantasy. It’s weird because of all the times he’s made himself stop thinking about Kurt, so many nights where he’d tell himself to forget him. He spent so long putting Kurt to the back of his mind, except for that single day a year where he let himself go.

But here he is, pressed against Kurt Hummel, kissing him, and every one of his senses is overloaded with Kurt. Beautiful, broken Kurt, who Dave wanted so badly for so long.

The sex is fast, frenzied, just the way Kurt wants it. Kurt scrabbles at their clothes and there’s probably some tearing going on there, but neither of them cares. When it comes to it, Dave can’t hold back from thrusting into Kurt so hard he can barely move, and Kurt lets out a mess of moans and swearwords and screams of _“Dave!”_ When he cums, Dave grips Kurt’s shoulder so hard he leaves marks, but either Kurt doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because he’s shuddering and writhing against him. Dave continues to thrust through his orgasm, his hand squeezing Kurt’s cock hard, and soon Kurt’s takes him too and he releases onto his stomach with a noise that makes Dave want to fuck him all over again.

They collapse onto each other, breathing hard and sticky with sweat. Kurt lazily wipes his stomach on the sheet. It’s not the first stain on it, nor will it be the last.

Dave stares at Kurt, naked and covered with the light sheen of perspiration. His hair is plastered to his face, his cheeks are red and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Even now, after all he’s done to himself, Dave can’t help but find Kurt absolutely gorgeous.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” Dave groans, leaning back and running his hands through his hair. Kurt leans back too, surveying him with an expression of disdain. There’s something hidden there, though, a pain of some sort. He suddenly looks tired and worn, and Dave doesn’t think it’s just because of the sex.

“What, are you married?” He asks, not curious but scathing. He smiles at Dave with false sweetness, and Dave scoffs at him.

“At twenty two?” He counters, turning away from him. “Fuck no. And in case you hadn’t noticed, girls aren’t exactly my type.” Of course, there were a few years that he could have gotten married, before the Amendment came in that required ten years of cohabitation before homosexual marriage was legal. Dave thinks it’s as disgusting a law as every other gay person does, but he hadn’t exactly vocalized his opinions at the time, so he feels like he can’t really complain. Not that he has any overwhelming desire to get married right now, or any potential suitors, save for a drug-addicted prostitute who won’t abandon his life of depravity.

“So you _are_ gay. Is that why you were such a prick in high school?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “What a cliché, the closeted jock. Does anyone else know?” Kurt’s mocking smile hasn’t dropped and Dave has a sudden urge to shove him. Huh, seems like he’s regressing into that behavior after all.

“I’m not out, no. Not to my family or anyone at home. But here…” he trails off for a moment, and then shakes his head. “It’s different here. It’s so…bright.”

“You make it sound so romantic.” He puts on a soft, dreamy voice, “A city of bright lights and paying customers.” He says, like he’s reading a children’s book. It’s accompanied by a snort of laughter.

“Such a cynic. It almost sounds like you miss Lima.”

“Hell, no.” Dave raises his eyebrows and Kurt crumbles. “Well, a little. It was a shit-hole, but it was home.” He sighs. “The rest of the world was supposed to be better, you know? Not this place, not…”

“Bright lights and paying customers?”

“Yeah. The customers part especially.” Kurt rubs his temples, and Dave suddenly realizes what the pain he’d sensed was.

“That high wearing off yet?” Dave asks, scornfully, and Kurt glares at him.

“Fuck you. I see you there, judging me. Stop it.” A hand waves in Dave’s general direction, but he ignores it, staring Kurt down.

“I’m not allowed to judge you?” He says, with a tone of absolute derision.

“ _You’re_ the one paying for sex.” Kurt motions down to the evidence, the sticky stain on his stomach and the tied up condom thrown about a meter left of the waste-bin.

“And you’re the one being paid.” Dave reminds him. Childish, perhaps, but necessary. Kurt rolls over to his side and curls up so he’s almost in the fetal position.

“Shut up.” He whispers. Then, louder, “Shut _up._ You don’t know anything about it.”

“Then tell me.” He says it loudly and angrily, and then his voice drops. He maneuvers Kurt onto his back again, and then flicks a lock of sweat-drenched hair out of Kurt’s eyes. “Tell me.” Dave whispers, and Kurt stares, sniffs and sighs.

“Fine. You really want to know? Don’t blame me if you get all fucking emotional. It’s not a happy story, okay?” Kurt takes a deep breath and shifts himself so he’s sat upright. Dave moves too, and Kurt glances at him for the briefest of moments before leaning into his chest and pulling the sheets over them both.

He starts with what he calls the _prologue._

It all began the week of that damn Gaga assignment, he tells Dave. Of course, he remembers it – it was the last time he ever saw Kurt, and he was wearing that ridiculous outfit with the heels. That costume made him so unbelievable angry because not only could he not stop fucking _staring_ at it, it also made Kurt taller than him for once and that just wasn’t _right._

But apparently being shoved by Karofsky wasn’t the biggest of Kurt’s problems that week. Kurt tells him about Finn moving in and how he’d tried to decorate the room – an idea he couldn’t see the stupidity of at the time – and how Finn flipped out. He’s sure that Finn never meant to use the _f-word_ but he did, over and over until something just _snapped_ in Kurt. In a fit of adolescent rebellion that Dave can’t say he hadn’t had himself a few times, he up and left that evening, with money stashed in his left Doc Marten.

“So, you ran away?” Dave echoes and Kurt nods, closing his eyes. His eyes are glossy with tears, Dave notices, but he doesn’t make any snide comments about Kurt being the one to get all emotional.

“I left a note. It was long and dramatic and I…I can’t even remember half of it. Something about how I wasn’t _needed_ and that they should just go on without me.”

“No wonder they thought…” Dave trails off, feeling slightly insensitive.

“That I killed myself, right? It makes sense. I suppose I added to the long list of gay teen suicides that year. Ooh, I hope I made it onto one of the Trevor Project videos.”

Dave winces, and Kurt rubs his forehead with his palm. “Sorry. I always was very awkward when it came to humor.”

“You were always funny when you weren’t trying. Like when you were making bitchy remarks. I always found them hilarious."

“I never saw you laughing.” Kurt’s tone is dark and humorless.

“I never used to laugh. At all. Not really.” Dave says, morosely. If the mood isn’t already dampened past repair, that does it.

“Did they search for me, at least?” Kurt asks quietly, sadly. Dave can tell what he thinks – when no one came looking for him, he just assumed that no one cared.

“For a few months, they did, but…you could always tell they thought it was suicide. If it wasn’t for your dad, I don’t think they’d have searched at all. They certainly didn’t seem to look outside Ohio.”

“They wouldn’t, not if they thought it was suicide. Even if they never found the body. I’m surprised they even listened to my dad.” Kurt couldn’t look more miserable if he tried, and Dave can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. Okay, more than a pang.

“He was sure you wouldn’t kill yourself.” Dave says, quietly.

“No parent ever thinks their child would kill themselves.” Kurt points out.

“He was sure.” Dave had been sure, too, he’d always known, deep down… no, no, that’s a lie. Every so often he’d fantasized about it, about Kurt being alive, but he’d never really believed it, not for a second. He hadn’t let himself.

“He can’t have been.” Kurt pauses. “I didn’t think it through. I took the money I’d secretly been saving for…fuck, I can’t even remember, some sort of jacket or something. No one would have noticed. I should have taken my bankcard…I mean, I took some clothes in a bag, but…no one would have known there were some missing. My dad and I…I mean, we were _close_ but not even he could have kept up with my wardrobe…” He trails off, and coughs back a sob.

“I met Mark outside the motel I was staying in. I barely had enough money for three days, I don’t know what I was thinking. He asked me if I was alright and I thought ‘ _hey, what a friendly guy’_ and when I told him I’d run away from home, he offered to hear my story and buy me a drink. I…I didn’t even realize he meant… well, he took me to some bar and there I was, thinking about how exciting it all was, how I was getting out there in the real world and being so _mature._ He bought me a drink – something sweet and fruity – and I told him everything, about Finn and the basement… the whole story. He listened and sympathized and bought me drink after drink… and then when I broke down into tears at the end he hugged me and told me everything would be fine, and that he could make all the pain go away.”

The feeling in Dave’s stomach spikes into nausea and he clenches his fists.

“That’s all I wanted. I just wanted everything to go away, I wanted a miracle solution. I _knew_ that drugs were bad, for fuck’s sake, who doesn’t? I mean, I’d been told – you’re always _told_ in school, or by your parents, it’s driven into you but when they’re _there_ and you want it all to melt away… I told him I didn’t have much money, but he smiled that fucking smile at me, patted my back and said ‘ _don't worry about the money’_ …well, you can guess what happened after that.”

Dave can. He can picture it all: Kurt staring worriedly as Mark shows him how to work a tourniquet, his eyes glazed and unfocused from the alcohol. Mark keeping his hand on his back; Kurt’s face flushed. The needle pushing into his skin, and Kurt being hit by the rush, grinning fiercely, so fucking _happy…_

And so damn naïve that his whole life is about to go to shit.

“I had no fucking clue that shooting coke was the easiest way to get addicted. I mean, how could I? What the hell did I know about drugs? I thought that was the normal thing to do with drugs, you know?” Anger seeps through his voice, and he cuts himself off by clearing his throat, before continuing. “Well, obviously only the first hit is free and my money ran out pretty fast, and as I said, I didn’t bring my bankcard.” He swallows, “But by then, I couldn’t stop; I needed it so bad. So I went to him and I begged him for a hit, I literally got down on my knees and _begged_. And then Mark said…he said he’d let me off, this one time if I…” he trails off, and Dave ushers him on. Kurt’s voice is thick and heavy, “If I _kept him company_ that night. I- I didn’t even know what he meant until…”

“It’s not your fault.” Dave says, perhaps a little dishonestly, just to make Kurt feel better. Kurt doesn’t react to this; Dave wonders if he’s even aware of his presence any more, or if he’s talking for the sake of talking.

“That one time became several times.” His voice is cracking now, and Dave’s stomach turns again. “I’d never been with a guy before, how was I supposed to know he was _training me up?”_

With this, Kurt Hummel breaks.

Dave has never seen anything like it. He’s never seen anyone shatter like this, retreat into his own body as if there’s nothing good to live for in the whole outside world. His shoulders shake like he’s having a seizure and tears just roll down his face as he fails to them chokes back, coughing and spluttering with the effort. Dave wraps his arms around him tightly, and he’s so angry with Mark, that _lowlife,_ but he’s also mad at Kurt.

He knows he shouldn’t be; it’s not really Kurt’s fault, none of it, but a part of him just couldn't help but ask why he had to be so _naïve ?_ Why did he have to accept that hit? Why couldn’t he have fought the addiction back when he ran out of money? Why did he have to let Mark touch him, use him, _sell_ him?

Maybe he’s just angry with himself, for letting it happen. It’s ridiculous, he’s aware of that, but someone should have been there for Kurt, someone should have been close enough that Kurt would trust them to turn to in his time of need. Maybe Mercedes Jones would have been enough any other day, but that day, Kurt needed someone who could love him unconditionally, or at least someone who truly understood him, really understood what he was going through.

He could have been that person. He could have been Kurt’s friend, his comrade in arms against the world of homophobia. He could have protected Kurt from Finn, or talked him into staying with him for a few days instead of running into the city. He could have held Kurt as he cried, as he broke down, like he’s doing now. 

He just hopes he’s not too late.

“God, Kurt, you know this needs to stop, right? I mean, today you’re waking up in some random guy’s bed, but tomorrow? Maybe tomorrow you won’t wake up at all.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.” Kurt sobs out, bitterly, “At least then my family would never know.”

It gives Dave an odd sense of déjà vu. He sighs, and stares at Kurt before speaking. “You know, when I was about ten, Azimio and I thought it would be a good idea to practice hockey… _inside_. We were just screwing around, but…well, I accidently broke a picture frame that belonged to my dad – it was a picture of him and my grandfather who’d died when I was younger. The frame itself was fine, but the glass was shattered. I was so fucking scared because I knew he loved the damn thing, so I hid it in my room, under my bed.”

“You thought he wouldn’t notice?” Kurt sniffs, sounding cynical, and Dave doesn’t blame him; he was a really dumb kid then.

“Shut up, I was ten.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I kept it in there for years, until I totally forgot about it. Then, when I was packing for college, I found it, realized what an ass I’d been, and gave it back to my dad. And you know what? He didn’t give a crap that I broke the damn glass, he was just so happy to have the picture back because it was the best one he owned of his dad.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Is this supposed to be some sort a moral lesson?”

“Well. No. Just…you think your dad will be mad at you…disappointed at what you’ve done. I think that he’d just be happy to have his son back, broken glass and all.”

“You should write fables.” There’s silence for a few moments, and then, “Was that all bullshit or just the bit about your dad forgiving you?”

“It was true! Every word!” Dave defends his story, mockingly clapping his hand over his heart.

“Bullshit.” Kurt says again. Then he clears his throat again, and speaks in a low voice. “Dave, I can’t go back. My family deserves the memories they have now, of sixteen year old me, not…not what I’ve become. I’m better off dead.”

It’s breaking point for Dave. “Shit, Kurt! You don’t understand the effect you have on people! You go along in your life and you think you’re the only one affected by what you do but you’re _not!_ Did you ever think about your family when you left? Did you ever think about Finn, how he must have felt? If you knew everything he did–”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What did he do, Dave?” Kurt sounds panicked and Dave freezes. He shouldn’t tell him about Finn. He doesn’t want to make Kurt feel guilty; it’s not like it’ll help.

“It…it doesn’t matter. Let’s drop it.” He says, quietly, licking his lips nervously. He pulls away from Kurt, stands up and starts dressing himself. For a minute or so, Kurt watches silently, then pads over and dresses too. When they’re done, Dave goes into the bathroom to splash water onto his face and try to clear his head.

He sees Kurt come up behind him, his eyes still red and bloodshot from the crying (and, no doubt, from whatever he’s on.) He stares Dave straight in the eyes and looks as menacing as he can muster. “Tell me what Finn did, Dave.”

Dave sighs. Okay, so Kurt’s probably going to get it out of him at some point anyway, especially since every time he says Dave’s name, he feels a jab of some emotion he can’t even name. He was never _Dave_ in high school, just _Karofsky._ Just hearing his first name slip from Kurt’s lips makes him want to do whatever the hell Kurt asks. “After you left, he lost it, Kurt. He…he blamed himself for your death. He wanted to drop out of school but your dad stopped him. As soon as he was done…he, uh…he enlisted.”

“In the army?” Kurt claps his hand over his mouth in guilty horror. Dave doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but Kurt’s probably assumed the worst by now.

“Yeah. He went off to _war,_ Kurt. For two years, he was out there before they let him come home.” Dave doesn’t need to emphasize how bad two years of service is now. Half of new recruits don’t even survive a year, not now that they’re calling it World War Three. It’s just a phrase; the whole world isn’t literally at war but with the amount of dead soldiers, it might as well be.

“Oh, god.” Kurt chokes out. He’s seen the news, he’s seen the articles, and he knows what happens to men out there. He knows how they’re sending the rookies to the front line as a distraction. He knows the dirty secrets that have been slipped to the press. Everyone does.

“And then a year later, he got called back…” Kurt does the math and figures out that’s the year of the White House bombings, the year the papers started saying the apocalypse had come. All exaggeration, of course, but it didn’t mean things weren’t really bad. “And…and there was an accident, he got a massive piece of shrapnel in his leg.”

“Oh, _god.”_

“They let him go home on a medical discharge because he can’t run anymore. He has a _limp._ And you know what he told me, when he came back? He said he wished he’d died out there. He wished he’d never made it back, that no one had found him lying there bleeding to death and that he’d just been allowed to die.”

Dave recalls the situation like it was yesterday. He and Finn had gone for a drink and, in a situation eerily similar to his meetings with Kurt (minus the sex, of course) Finn had broken down and told him everything. They’d never been best friends or anything, and maybe that was why it was easy for Finn to talk about it, because he knew that Dave wasn’t going to go tell his mom or their friends. Dave was reliable, because he was somewhat distant.

“Why?” Kurt asks, naively. Dave feels fury pulse through him. “How could he think that’s better?”

“How could _you_?” Dave shouts, his voice full of years of anger and pain. “I know you’re not a sixteen year old anymore, Kurt, but your life isn’t over! You’re alive! And you have the chance to go back and make things right!”

Kurt gives a small, bitter laugh. “That was way better than the picture frame story.” Dave can’t help but groan in exasperation, storming back into the room and throwing himself back onto the bed. Kurt comes to lie beside him again, and for a few minutes they just stay there and listen to the sound of each other’s breathing. Kurt’s side is just a little pressed against Dave’s and Dave can feel his warmth even through his shirt.

Dave can’t help it, can’t keep away. He reaches up and tenderly swipes the hair from Kurt’s face. “Kurt.” he whispers, drawing in to kiss him, but Kurt pulls back, on his feet before Dave can even react.

“I have to go.” He says, the panic evident in his voice. “I’m sorry, Dave. I… I just can’t see you. This isn’t good for us.”

“What, so you’re just going to go on selling your body for drugs?” Dave can’t help but sound bitter. What’s he supposed to do, just go on as if nothing had happened? Forget all about Kurt, the guy he’s been mourning for the last six years, the guy who he’s slept with three times now, the guy who he wants more than anything?

“Pretty much, yeah.” Kurt says, as if he’s answering all of Dave’s questions, even though he only vocalized one. 

“Kurt, please.” Dave hates the way his voice breaks like that, like he’s so damn desperate, which is true, if he’s honest. “Come to my house tomorrow, or whenever. Just come over and have dinner with me and we’ll talk, okay?”

Kurt stares at him for a moment, thinking hard about it. Eventually he nods. “Where do you live?” He reaches into his bag for a pen and glances around for some paper but can’t find any. Then, with a sigh, he grabs the Bible from the bedside table and rips out a page. Dave watches with raised eyebrows and Kurt sends him a challenging glare.

“I’m pretty sure that breaks one the Ten Commandments.” Dave comments, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, right underneath ‘ _Thou shalt not have sex with men’_ and ‘ _thou shalt not be a whore.’”_

“Good point.” Dave admits, and rattles off his address for Kurt to write on Matthew Book Four.

Dave supposes it isn’t the worst sin he’s committed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS of Warnings for Chapter 3:
> 
> Prostitution  
> Drug use  
> Drugged sex  
> Reference to suicide  
> Reference to major character death  
> Running away from home  
> Coerced prostitution  
> Underage drug use  
> Non-consensual drug use  
> Drug addiction  
> Description of grooming  
> Explicit sex  
> Reference to war injury  
> Reference to PTSD
> 
> ...this chapter is heavy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm saying this before every chapter, but this one is really heavy. 
> 
> Content warnings in the end notes!

**_Four_ **

****

The next month passes in a blur of sex, drugs and…well, there’s no rock and roll, but enough sex and drugs to make up for it.

Dave really didn’t mean to sleep with Kurt again. That wasn’t why he invited him over that first evening, not at all, but somehow, at the end of the night it just happened, the same way it had happened the third time Dave had paid to see Kurt. It was like neither of them could help it, and for the first time, he knew that Kurt wasn’t faking it because Dave wasn’t paying him.

It’s not healthy for either of them and they both know it. Just because Dave’s stopped paying for sex with Kurt, it doesn’t mean others have stopped too. Dave knows that the drugs have to come from somewhere and Kurt doesn’t have any other job. For the first few weeks, Kurt still turns up high every few times Dave sees him but just as he starts getting used to it, it stops. Dave supposes that Kurt realizes how much he disapproves and only takes drugs when he’s not with Dave.

Mostly, they go to bars and hotels. After the first evening, Kurt hasn’t come back to Dave’s apartment; Dave doesn’t want him to and Kurt doesn’t push it. It’s not that Dave doesn’t want to spend time with him in his apartment, it’s just that he needs to keep his distance, just enough that when they break away – which he knows they will – he won’t have to spend all day with reminders of Kurt’s presence.

It worries him sometimes, how much he wants Kurt. He spends half of his days thinking about him and the other half trying not to. The only relief he gets is the two weeks he spends doing his exams, where he literally has to stop thinking of Kurt lest he fail his final and the most important year of law school. He tells Kurt about the exams and how he can’t have any distractions, and Kurt smiles and shrugs it off casually, but Dave can tell that he’s not happy about it.

Kurt seems restless after those weeks. When Dave meets him again, he gets huffy and drinks more than usual. The next time, he’s pale and shaky and he yells at Dave for absolutely nothing. He storms away from Dave and Dave doesn’t see him for another five days.

Dave doesn’t know what Kurt’s on and he doesn’t ask. He knows Kurt must have been injecting something, because of the track marks, but that doesn’t mean he’s not snorting or smoking too. Then again, his voice is still high-pitched and clear as ever, so perhaps he doesn’t smoke very often.

Things don’t get better. They meet maybe three times a week, and Dave gets the feeling those are the only nights Kurt gets off. They don’t always have sex, and maybe that’s the worst part, sometimes they rent a room for the night and just chat and sleep. Sometimes they drink until they’re falling over, and sometimes they sit and talk, and Dave tells Kurt all about what happened to everyone he knew in high school, and Kurt tells him about all the mistakes he’s made in life.

But Kurt is still restless. He’s always touching Dave as if he’s afraid that he’s going to disappear, he’s acting paranoid and he keeps mentioning how he wishes they’d go somewhere more reliable to meet. It takes him another week to practically beg Dave to come back to his place.

“I have an apartment.” He says, breathing hard. He’s a little tipsy because they’ve been at a bar for the last three hours. “Mark–”

“You live with him?”

“No.” Kurt grinds out, “He found me somewhere. It’s not…well. It’s a roof over my head.” There’s no use being optimistic about it. As Kurt tells a taxi driver the address, Dave can guess what kind of place they’re headed to. He only hopes that Kurt lives alone and not with a gaggle of other sex workers.

Kurt sees his hesitance and looks worried. “We can go to yours if you don’t want to…”

“No, I want to see it.” Kurt tenses slightly before nodding. He knows how Dave doesn’t want him in his house, he’s not stupid.

Kurt’s flat is…well, it’s a shit-hole, and that’s a nice way of putting it. Kurt has done what he can to salvage the pile of crap, but even his decorating skills can’t hide the fact that the building is revolting. In the hall, the walls are damp, it’s cold and it smells like vomit. Inside is better, but only because Kurt has done his best to hide the walls and the smell. The decoration is simple at best, and the carpets and curtains demonstrate the lackluster quality of the place.

Kurt looks embarrassed, unsurprisingly, since he’s seen Dave’s place. It’s ironic that Kurt, who was always such a snob, lives here, whilst Dave, who could live in a dumpster and not really care, has such a nice apartment. Of course, neither of them mentions this particular irony; Kurt is miserable enough as it is.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Dave asks, politely. Kurt nods, pointing him to a door. Dave dumps his bag on a chair and strolls over to the room.

It’s clean, at least. Kurt is clearly nowhere near as anal-retentive as he was in high school, but he seems to be trying hard to keep this place from falling apart. Dave relieves his bladder in the clean-ish toilet and tries to flush, but nothing happens.

“The water’s out!” Kurt calls, just as he’s about to ask. “Don’t worry about it… um, there are some wet wipes in the drawer.” He says through the door. Dave looks around to see a few drawers and goes for the top one. Nothing but pills and syringes, what a shock. Dave’s stomach turns as he stares at them, and then something catches his eye – a small packet of blue pills that pretty much anyone would recognize from reputation alone. But why a twenty-two year old would need Viagra is beyond him.

He closes the drawer and quickly finds the wet wipes in the drawer below, wiping his hands and disposing of it in the trashcan. He goes to the door before hesitating. With a nervous breath, he pulls the packet of blue pills out. He’s probably overstepping his boundaries here, but he has to ask. After all, he knows ever other of Kurt’s dirty little secrets, what’s one more? After you’ve fucked a guy… god knows how many time it’s been now, but after that many fucks, Dave thinks he’s earned the privilege of prying into his sex life a little.

He steps into what he assumes is the living/dining/corridor area and clears his throat. Kurt, who’s fixing a drink, stares as him as he lifts up the packet. “Blue pills?” Dave asks, worriedly.

Kurt freezes for a few moments, staring at the packet in horror, and then his eyes drift as he avoids Dave’s gaze. “I sometimes need them for…” He trails off, but it’s already clicked in Dave’s mind, just by the look on Kurt’s face. It’s the look he gets whenever he talks about his _work._

“For clients.” Dave finishes for him. Kurt winces, but Dave stares him down.

“It’s… I can’t always…” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is strained and lined with something dark and raw. “I think it’s the coke.” Then, a choked noise. “It’s always the fucking drugs! I can’t even get it up anymore sometimes. I’m not even twenty-three and at times I can’t get a fucking erection without Viagra, how fucking sad is that?!”

“Have you ever used them with me?” Kurt’s eyes widen and he slams the can in his hand down on the counter.

“ _No!”_ He screeches, offended, “How could you _say_ that?! I’m not…with you, I _mean_ it!” Dave says nothing, and Kurt immediately knows he doesn’t believe him. “That third time, when I was… When you called again and I didn’t want to see you, I brought them with me. I was convinced I’d need them. I _really_ didn’t want to go, you know that, Mark had to…” Dave knows what Mark did; the same as Mark always did – pumped Kurt full of drugs and sent him on his merry way. “It was coke, that time. When you’ve had a hit, after… After a while of being on it, it’s sometimes hard to get it up but the _desire_ is there, so I brought the pills with me, in case… In case I couldn’t.” He smiles bitterly. “Clearly, that wasn’t an issue.”

“Wait, it was coke, _that time?”_ Dave questions. “What the hell are you taking?” He’s made a point of not asking before, but if he’s being nosy, he might as well ask. Besides, it’d be nice to know if he ever has to find Kurt’s body what overdose he died of.

“Well, coke.” Kurt says, begrudgingly, but honestly. He takes a deep breath, and Dave knows that he’s going to hate hearing this just as much as Kurt hates admitting it. “But basically anything I can get. Heroin, too, meth once or twice. E, sometimes, but mostly coke and heroin whenever I can get it. Or speedballing, which I know is really fucking bad, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Coke and heroin together?” Dave knows just enough about drugs to know that. Kurt nods, somewhat grimly.

“I get the shakes when I don’t take heroin for a while, and get sick, you know? But the coke is the worst for the cravings. I can use the heroin to starve them off but they’re absolute hell. Usually by then I just stay drunk all day.” Confessing it seems almost therapeutic; Dave can see Kurt’s shoulders relaxing even as he fiddled with his fingers nervously. But there’s still something closed off about him, as if he’s tensed ready to defend his lifestyle at any moment.

Dave feels ill himself. This is worse than he thought, the only way he could imagine it worse is if he had a crystal meth addiction too, and he did mention he’d taken it in the past. But heroin and coke? Coke was the one that caused all the problems in the first place, wasn’t it? And Kurt is still on it, even though he knows what it did to him?

The frustrating thing is that Kurt doesn’t seem to understand what he’s doing to himself, what the drugs are actually doing. He just takes them because he doesn’t know anything else, can’t imagine anything else now.

“Do you even know anything about drugs?” Dave asks, harsher than he intended. Kurt stares at him defiantly.

“I know what they feel like and I know how to get them.” He replied, through gritted teeth.

“And the effects?”

Something about Kurt changes then. His breath catches, the boldness in his eyes just ebbs away and he looks _defeated_. “…I can’t go back now, Dave. The damage is done.”

“Done?! Jesus, Kurt, you’re twenty-two! You have your whole fucking life ahead of you!” Dave pauses. “Well, unless you stay this way, and then I give you a couple of months at best.”

There’s a sickening silence as Dave realizes that’s exactly what Kurt meant.

“I can’t believe you’ve given up.” Dave whispers eventually, incapable of hiding the disappointment in his voice. “You’re Kurt fucking Hummel. I looked up to you, you know.” Kurt stares at him in wonder, and he knows he has to explain now. “Back then, when we were in high school. I mean, I kind of hated you but…fuck, I always admired you so much. You were so fucking _brave,_ you didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone, you just kept on strutting around in whatever the hell was in fashion that week.”

“And Neanderthals like you would beat the crap out of me.” Kurt points out bitterly.

“Yeah. We would. And you know why? It wasn’t because you were gay. It was never that, it was that you were _happy_ about it. You were _secure_ being different, whilst all of us spent our lives putting the effort in to seem normal. We were jealous because you didn’t have to try, you just existed the way you were.”

It’s true. Dave remembers seeing Kurt walking down the corridor in a skirt, in a corset, in that fucking Gaga outfit, but every time with the air of a guy who just didn’t give a fuck. And that was the most frustrating thing of all; no matter what he and Azimio did to him, he never gave up and never for a second showed how much he was really hurting. All they wanted was a little weakness, a sign that Kurt was as human as they were. Dave, who spent half of his life pretending to be someone else, could never have a fraction of Kurt’s strength.

“Oh, come on. Like you and Azimio had anything to be ashamed of.” Kurt cuts in, frowning at Dave.

“I’m _gay,_ Kurt. You of all people should understand what it means to be terrified of being judged because you like men. And Azimio has his demons too, you know. Sometimes the people you think fit in the most are just lying the hardest.”

Kurt says nothing, staring down at his hands. Dave can tell he’s thinking hard about something, because his eyes are squinted slightly with concentration. But he’s not convinced, not in the slightest.

“Maybe I have given up.” He says, very quietly. “But I’m still alive.” And his eyes flicker upwards to Dave, bluer than Dave has ever seen them. “Kiss me.”

Dave would love to say he could resist Kurt, resist that look, but it’s no use. He wants Kurt so much, he’s willing to give him whatever he wants. He’s kissed those lips so many times now, but every single time it’s like he’s filling in the last piece of a puzzle he’s been trying to complete his whole life. It’s so fucking cliché Dave can barely believe it’s real, as if any minute he’s going to wake up and this will all be a dream, Kurt will be dead and he’ll be alone again.

So he leans over the counter, and kisses Kurt as if it’s the last chance he’ll ever get.

Because it might well be.

* * *

Kurt slathers the makeup on his face and tries not to cry as he looks in the mirror. He hates how he looks so fucking _tired._ The concealer can barely hide the bags under his eyes nowadays. There’s a grey pallor to his skin, not that he wasn’t pale before. Somehow, he’s made the color transition from vampire to zombie. And no matter how much makeup he uses, there’s no hiding the bloodshot eyes or the track marks on his arms.

Dave was wrong when he said that Kurt doesn’t understand the damage he’s doing to himself. Kurt knows exactly what’s happening, he just doesn’t want to admit it. Admitting you have a problem is the first step in a direction he _doesn’t_ want to go.

And so what if he snivels a bit, or if his eyes are a little red? There are some things makeup can’t hide, but it’s all worth it in the end isn’t it? For that rush of pleasure. That feeling that nothing can ever be wrong in the world. That’s what gets him through, the fact that as soon as he gets his next hit, he’ll know that nothing else matters, everything will be right again.

Being with Dave has made him happier than he’s been in years, but that genuine, natural kind of happiness doesn’t even begin to compare with the high. _Nothing_ can compare with that feeling of absolute ecstasy.

And nothing ever will.

His hands shake slightly as he covers the tiny chunks with a random membership card to a store he’ll never go to again, and crushes the drugs as much as he can. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to stop the shaking, and begins to cut the coke to its finest powder with a razorblade.

 _“Fuck!”_ He curses as a slip of the finger leaves him with a small wound. Blood pours out far too fast, and he runs to grab a plaster, swearing all the time. He makes a mental note to ask Mark for heroin next time. That’ll get rid of the shakes. The physical withdrawal symptoms of smack aren’t as bad when he’s on cocaine, and vice versa, but they’re still there, and the nausea just reminds him of how little he’s eaten today.

Once he’s plastered up, he stares down at the powder on his vanity chest. It looks like icing sugar, so soft and innocent.

He reaches for the dollar bill and starts the routine he’s perfected over six long years of being an addict.

When the rush finally hits him, he knows without a doubt that he’s right. There’s _nothing_ better than this. Not Dave, not his family, not his old life. Why the fuck would he want any of that, when this feels so fucking good?

So he lies back on his bed and smiles because he’s fucking right and he knows it. Who the fuck does Dave think he is, trying to make him stop this? He doesn’t understand what it’s like, how amazing it feels. He could never understand how much it’s worth it. Every fucking bit of it; the pallid skin, the bloodshot eyes, the money and the goddamn _shame_.

Just because it’s temporary and it takes a bit of encouragement, it doesn’t mean that this feeling of joy is fake. It’s…this is _good,_ this feels good. Why would he stop something that feels this good?

It’s worth it, and nothing Dave Karofsky can say will convince him otherwise.

* * *

Dave doesn’t give up. He calls Kurt out again and again and Kurt goes every time. They drink, they fuck, they talk. Time and time again, Dave tells Kurt to give up this life, and time and time again, Kurt laughs him off.

Dave is slowly going insane. What is he supposed to do, beg Kurt to stop? Every time he sees him, it’s torture, because he knows exactly what Kurt’s doing ever other night they’re not together. Even now, sat at the bar with Kurt, he can’t stop thinking about how Kurt is destroying himself, and he’s _paying_ to do it using his fucking _body._

“You know, the reason I made friends with Finn was so I could ask about you and not sound suspicious.” Dave starts the argument again, completely unyielding, and Kurt rolls his eyes in response. “He thought I was just being polite when I asked for the latest updates, but I was the only one outside of Glee club that genuinely cared. Then…well, then everyone else stopped asking, too. You just faded away, like…like _Swine Flu_.” Kurt raises an eyebrow at being compared to a disease, but doesn’t interrupt him. “And now I’ve found you, and you’re alive, don’t you understand what that means?”

“I understand. And that’s the problem, Dave. You want me too much, you always have, apparently.” Here, he flicks a strand of hair away from his eyes and gives Dave his best diva glance. “You can’t have me, because there will always be something I want more. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re in public.” Kurt’s voice is laced with a warning tone, and his eyes fix Dave’s in a glare.

“Kurt, I can help you!” Dave’s voice bursts out louder than he intends, and Kurt claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes darting around the bar they’re sitting in.

“I don’t want your help!” Kurt hisses back, trying to keep his voice low. “Why can’t you understand that? I want to keep on living like this, I _want_ my drugs and I don’t want to change!”

“Please, can’t you see it’s killing you?”

“Maybe I can. Maybe I know exactly what it’s doing to me, or maybe I don’t. But who the fuck are you to judge when you don’t understand it?!”

But Kurt is wrong; Dave _does_ understand. No, of course it’s nothing to the extent of a drug addiction, but Dave knows what it’s like to need something. To physically hurt when it’s gone, to crave it with his whole being until that moment where he just can’t resist. To know that he can’t live without it, that to leave it might just break him to the point where it’s not worth living any more. To be living for something, no matter how unhealthy it may be, no matter how much it hurts him, to keep on going back, to keep it near him, to never be able to let go.

After all, he’s here with Kurt, isn’t he?

“Kurt, I would do anything to help you, please just let me.”

“I can’t, Dave. Because you think I’m so fucking naïve about what’s happening, when you can’t see what I’m doing to you. This is bad for us, for both of us, and I’m not… Fuck it, I’m not going to take you with me.” He glances down at his lap, and Dave can tell he’s been at the tipping point for a while now. But now he’s made up his mind. “I’m sorry, Dave, but I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“Kurt, please. Be reasonable.” Dave says, firmly. A hint of longing sneaks in there, though, which makes it a lot less convincing. He reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt snaps it away.

“I _am_ being reasonable!” He hisses. For a moment, he looks angry, but his expression softens into something more sorrowful. “This is most reasonable I’ve been ever since I _met_ you again, Dave! I think…I think you should leave.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kurt’s voice cracks. “I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me and tell me it’s all going to be alright and that we’ll get through this. But it _isn’t_ going to be okay. We’re not going to get through this. You’re going to fall in love with me and you’re going to get hurt.”

Dave can feel tears pricking his eyes but his pride keeps him from letting himself cry. Instead, he lets out a noise that sounds half like a sob, and half like a laugh. “You’re so fucking _blind,_ Kurt.”

Kurt stiffens, suddenly defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I already told you I’ve been in love with you for _years._ ” Dave keeps his voice low, but he can’t deny how desperately sappy he sounds. It’s horrifying, really. But Kurt doesn’t mock him, instead staring up at him with eyes full of sorrow and an even sadder smile.

“No.” he says, his voice soft and cheerless, “You’re confusing love for lust.”

“Lust doesn’t last six years!” Dave argues almost immediately. He knows what this is; if it was lust, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t fight to the bone for lust, he wouldn’t want nothing more than to see Kurt happy. No, he’s in love. It’s a stretch to say he’s always loved him; his feelings in high school were somewhere caught between loathing and a teenage crush, and until Kurt’s apparent death, he hadn’t realized how deep those feelings really ran. He wasn’t in love with him when he first caught on that Kurt was alive, either. His feelings were strong, but he didn’t _know_ Kurt back then, not at all. But now he knows, now he’s sure of what this is and there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’s love.

Kurt doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, closing his eyes. Dave stares at him, waiting for a reply, but none comes. He takes a long swig of his drinks and sits through the silence.

“I don’t love you.” Kurt says, eventually, as if it’s something he needs to confirm. It isn’t. Dave is perfectly aware that Kurt’s feelings for him are far from romantic. Hell, he doubts Kurt even _likes_ him, he’s probably just happy to have the positive attention for once. “But I could.”

 _That_ one throws Dave. Because Kurt is staring at him, right in his eyes, and there’s no love there, just pain. And Kurt is saying there’s potential for them, right at the moment where he’s practically begging Dave to leave him alone? No, no, this picture isn’t right.

“And I don’t want to.” Kurt finishes, and the Dave lets out the breath he had been holding. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the first person I’ve ever…I just…” a solitary tear runs down his face. “It wasn’t supposed to _hurt_ like this.”

“I’m sorry.” Dave replies, because he can’t think of what else to say.

And then Kurt laughs, with tears running down his face, he _laughs._ His hands cover his face as he tries to wipe his eyes, but he can’t stop laughing and it’s scaring Dave slightly.

“You’re sorry? _You’re_ sorry?!” He chokes out between sobs and laughter, “You’re such an _idiot,_ Dave.” He leans forward, and with a quick glance around them, pulls Dave in for a kiss. His face is a little dryer now that he’s stopped crying, but Dave can taste the salt on his skin.

It’s hot and deep and slow. Kurt kisses like he’s trying to memorize Dave, like he’s trying to keep him in his physical memory forever. He tastes like bad wine and Juicy Fruit gum; it feels like goodbye.

“Don’t call me.” Kurt says as he pulls away. “Don’t come over. Leave me behind, let me be dead again. Forget about me, for real this time. Don’t contact Mark, just let me be, okay?”

“I won’t.” Dave grabs for Kurt as he tries to pull back, yanking him in for another kiss. “I can’t.” He murmurs against Kurt’s lips.

Kurt’s hands rest on his shoulders and push him back gently. “Yes, you can.” He’s smiling, but there’s no joy in his eyes, only agony. He’s shaking again and he looks paler than ever.

“Goodbye, Simon Adams.” Then Kurt walks out of the bar, whilst he still can.

And they say addicts have no self-control.

* * *

Kurt curls up in bed and tries not to think about Dave.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Leaving Dave behind was supposed to be easy. The rest of it had been so effortless, leaving behind everyone when he’d first come here. It’s just a blizzard of white powder and sweating bodies now and he can barely remember those first few months, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. Not like the end of the world is coming.

The loss of Dave has left a huge fucking hole in him. It’s not fair, that someone can do that. Kurt doesn’t love Dave, he never did. Kurt doesn’t even know if he believes in love anymore, not after so many times of hearing those words fall from the mouth of a customer. Dave was just… a distraction. Their relationship was only temporary, it was never meant to be anything more. Hell, calling a ‘relationship’ was generous. He was only with Dave because… because…

He doesn’t even know _why_ he was with Dave, doesn’t that say enough? So why does it hurt so fucking bad?!

 _Only temporary._ It was supposed to be a fling; that’s what Kurt had told himself at the time. He spends most of his life riding the high and doing whatever the hell he wants, so why not? Dave made him feel good, in a way he had almost forgotten. Being with him was refreshing. It was nice.

Kurt has no place in his life for _nice_. No place for thoughts of Lima, of returning home, of leaving this behind. No place for lovers, for _boyfriends,_ for houses and white picket fences and dogs. No place for all the things Kurt Hummel dreamed of, after his life of being a star.

No place for _Kurt Hummel._ This is Lee’s life now.

Kurt staggers up to his vanity cabinet and fumbles around for that small plastic sachet, but it’s empty. Fuck, how much has he used today?

Mark. Mark will give him more. Mark will give him more so he can forget about Dave and _Kurt_ and the life they could have had together. Mark always takes care of him.

It’s cold outside, but the city is as bright as always, even at night. He makes his way to Mark’s flat, a five-minute walk, and knocks quickly. Mark answers just as swiftly, greeting Kurt with a smile.

“Mark.” Kurt says, quiet, scared, “I need more, I need…” Mark beckons him in without a word and sits him down on his couch.

“I don’t have a customer for you tonight, Kurt, you know that.” Mark’s expression is one of wary disapproval, as if Kurt’s been bad.

“I know! I just…I need…please, the Simon guy you set me up with…” Kurt chokes out, hands shaking more and more.

“Did he hurt you, Kurt?” Kurt backs away from the hand on his chin, “I told him I don’t tolerate–”

“But you made me go anyway!” Kurt shrieks, and it doesn’t matter that Dave didn’t hurt him, it doesn’t matter what he did, he just wants to forget it all.

“Oh, Kurt. No one’s making you do anything. This is your choice, you know that.” Mark smiles softly, and lifts a small plastic packet into the air. It’s full of white powder.

 _Your choice._ The words seem almost comical to Kurt. Like he ever had a choice. But there it is, in Mark’s hands: his _choice._

“Please, Mark. I need it, please.”

Mark shakes his head. “I can’t just give you everything you want, Kurt. You have to help me out in return.”

“I will – I’ll work double, I swear, just–”

“You misunderstand, Kurt. This time I want something special. It’ll be just like old times, Kurt. Just you and me.” He dangles the small plastic packet back and forth with a leering smile, and Kurt’s eyes follow its movement.

Kurt glances from the Mark’s burning eyes to the little plastic packet in his hands, and nods.

* * *

It hurts. It really _hurts._ Kurt has been thrown around countless times, but Mark has never hurt him like this. Never gone in dry, never slammed his face down so his chin scraped painfully against the bed. Never driven his nails into Kurt’s back and neck so hard it left little gouges.

By this point, Kurt is high enough he shouldn’t even care about the pain, but he doesn’t like this. The world is spinning and Mark’s hands are on his throat and he doesn’t _like_ it.

“Come on, Kurt, don’t whine.” Mark’s voice is breathy and smug, “You’ll like this, I promise. You owe me this.”

His hands clench around Kurt’s neck and he tries to shake his head. He doesn’t want this; he doesn’t like this feeling.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t _breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe._

Kurt passes out, tears streaming down his face.

When he comes to, Mark is still fucking him. He cries until Mark finally cums, his fingers still ghosting the dark pink mark streaks on his neck.

He cries even after Mark pulls out, leaves him lying there, filthy and bleeding. He can’t stop.

He cries, because for a moment, he had thought he might die. As the darkness drifted over him, his lungs screaming for air, his body convulsing in a sick mixture of agony and pleasure. At that moment, he had thought he might die.

He’s not crying because he almost died, he’s crying because he _didn’t._

* * *

Dave stares at his phone, willing away the urge to ring Kurt. This needs to stop, for both of their sakes, Kurt said it himself. He knows there’s no future in this relationship, or whatever you could call it. Relationship seems too generous a phrase, but it is something, isn’t it? It’s something that at least warrants a word, some sort of identification.

It has no future, he keeps telling himself that. Kurt’s a prostitute, he’s a drug-addict and he doesn’t want to change. Dave can’t help him, not if he’s so unwilling to accept help. Short from getting him committed, there’s nothing Dave can do, and there’s no way he’s going to have Kurt committed against his will.

He feels so powerless: he can’t help Kurt, but all he wants to do is take him in his arms and carry him away, to run away together and leave all of this behind. In a few months, he’ll be done with his time here, and next year he has a placement back in Lima – he could take Kurt there and… and…

And what? And drag Kurt back to his parents? Force him to go through withdrawal, to get his life back together? Insist that he returns to his friends and family in his current state: underfed to the point of starvation, with bags under his eyes and a drug addiction that’s left a very obvious mark? It would be even crueler than leaving him here.

 _But he’ll die,_ a little voice in Dave’s head pipes up, and he can’t deny it. A few months, maybe a year, and the drugs will get him. He’ll overdose, or he’ll mix them wrong or, god forbid, if he doesn’t already have it, he’ll get AIDS and become another blur of hospital bills and AZT.

It’s right then that Dave’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He nearly ignores it, nearly decides to check it later, to continue wallowing in his own misery. But something stops him; something tells him to check it, that same niggling little voice in the back of his head.

The text reads two words and two words only, large and clear and ugly on Dave’s screen:

_stop me_

Dave has a horrifying feeling that Kurt’s not talking about the drugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 4:
> 
> Very dubious consent for sex  
> Non-consensual choking during sex  
> Prostitution  
> Drug use  
> Drug addiction  
> Reference to suicide  
> Suicidal thoughts   
> Explicit sex


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every chapter, but this is dark stuff, read the warnings at the end if you want more detail. 
> 
> Also, I do not personally condone these methods of trying to help someone with an addiction. 
> 
> But on a slightly happier note, enjoy a glimpse of sexy law student Dave. ✨I know literally nothing about US law so sorry~ ✨

**_Five_ **

****

Dave wastes no time getting to Kurt’s apartment. He skips three red lights, practically breaks down Kurt’s door and knocks over a lampshade as he rushes to Kurt’s bathroom.

He doesn’t even know what he expected, but this is so much worse.

It feels like there are pills everywhere, scattered across the floor, bottles and bottles and Kurt has a handful of them that he’s just staring at whilst he sobs uncontrollably.

First, Dave knocks the pills out of his hands. “Did you take any? Kurt!” He pulls Kurt’s chin up to look at him but Kurt won’t meet his eye. There are streaks of tears down his face and his eyes are puffy and red but he’s so inappropriately _beautiful_ right now _._ “Listen to me, Kurt! Did you take any of the pills?”

Kurt replies with a sob, long and heart-wrenching, and before he knows it, Dave is being dragged down to his knees, Kurt’s fingers gripping his arms like he never means to let go.

“I wanted to.” He chokes out. “I wanted to so bad. I want it to end, Dave.” With that, he gives a low wail and kicks out with one foot, knocking over another bottle of pills. “But I couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t I do it?”

“Kurt, shh. I’m here now, don’t worry. We can make it through together.” Kurt sobs into his chest, his whole body convulsing.

“You came to save me. God, I wanted to do it so much, Dave, but I still sent you that text and I don’t know _why.”_ Dave pulls away to get a look at the bottles, but Kurt’s hands grip him and pull him back. “Dave, please, please don’t leave. Stay here with me, _please.”_

They sit, locked in the embrace, Kurt’s face buried in Dave’s chest. Dave keeps his arms wrapped around him, holding him hard enough to keep him upright. With one hand, he strokes Kurt’s hair. “I’m not going to leave you. I won’t ever leave you.” he whispers, close to Kurt’s ear.

“I want to get better. Dave, how do I get better?” Kurt pleads with him, desperate for an answer, like a dying man praying to a distant God.

“I’ll help you.” Dave replies, reassuringly as he can when he’s so terrified. “I can help you, Kurt, but you need to tell me if you took any at all.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I tried to, but I…I couldn’t swallow them. I just kept trying and trying and then…ugh, I threw up.” He motions weakly to the toilet, head sagging.

“Kurt, I’m going to get you out of here, I’ll pay for you to go to rehab–”

“ _No!_ Please, I can’t let you…please…I’ll stop…I can do it myself, I just need to get away.” Hands push at Dave feebly, but he holds Kurt tight.

“You can come to mine, okay? Just let me take you out of this room.” Dave speaks gently, and when Kurt doesn’t move, just nods, Dave scoops him up and carries him to the living room. He weighs so little, it’s barely an effort to hold him, Dave notes grimly.

When Kurt’s curled up on the couch, Dave goes back into the bathroom to clear up the pills. There are a lot less than he thought there were, maybe about four or five bottles of them, and they’re mostly names Dave has never heard of. He picks up all the bottles, and then flushes all the loose pills down the toilet. As if having all this medication around isn’t bad enough, leaving them all mixed up is a recipe for disaster.

When he walks back into the living room, Kurt is sitting up, looking slightly less hysterical.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, quiet as anything. Dave sits next to him and wraps an arm around him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know how you feel… God, that sounds so fucking cliché, but I do, to an extent. I know what it’s like to feel you have nothing to live for.” Because when he was younger, Dave almost always felt like he had nothing to live for, was worth nothing. It was an almost inevitable side effect of being gay in a town like Lima, surrounded by people who would judge you without a moment’s hesitation.

“No.” Kurt protests, softly, but shaking his head as firmly as he can muster. “No…that was the problem, Dave. That’s why I couldn’t swallow the pills.”

“Why?”

“Because for the first time in my life, I felt like I _have_ something to live for. When I disappeared the first time, I didn’t think anyone would care but now… That’s why I texted you. It was like, if you came, then I knew there was a reason for me not to do it, because I knew…I knew that someone would miss me.”

“People did miss you. Your dad–”

“Had Carole and Finn to console him.” Kurt cuts him off, smiling sadly. Dave couldn’t deny it; Kurt’s dad had been distraught but Carole had been his rock. She’d kept him sane through it all, as far as Dave had heard from Finn.

“Kurt…”

“I’m sorry, Dave. I know that I’m laying too much on you. But I don’t know who else I’m supposed to go to. You’re…you’re the first person who’s given a damn about me for years. I was about to screw all of that up by pushing you away. I…” He swallows hard, “I was out of coke and I went to Mark for more, like I always do, but he didn’t have a client for me. So we went back to the original deal.” Dave’s jaw clenches – Kurt sleeping with Mark somehow feels worse than the strangers. It’s because Mark and Kurt have a connection, not one based on feelings, but mutual gain. Of course in Kurt’s case, it was more loss than gain, but that’s not how he perceives it.

“It was awful, Dave, like I was really being _used_ , it felt _horrible._ But he handed over the powder, like he promised and I thought at least the pain would go away, I’d forget it all. But I couldn’t; it was like I’d quenched the thirst, but with fucking poison – it was just clawing at me like that and I kept thinking _was this worth it?_ And you know what? As much as I tried to convince myself otherwise…it wasn’t. It was never worth the price I paid, Dave.” He lets it out like a breath, his voice getting stronger and stronger even as the tears streak down his face. He lets out a sob and clutches his face, “God, what have I _done?!_ ”

Dave doesn’t know what to say, so he shifts slightly so he can hold Kurt, the whole of him wrapped in his big, safe arms.

“I finally know what I want.” Kurt whispers in his ear. Somehow, that whisper seems firmer and more fixed than anything Kurt’s said to Dave. It’s a glimpse of the Kurt that Dave remembers in the corridor, the Kurt that told him to hurry up so he didn’t miss his appointment at _Supercuts._

“What are you saying?” Dave asks, quietly. Kurt’s head is buried in his chest, but now he shifts back so he can look Dave straight in the eyes.

“I want to live, Dave. I don’t want to die and I don’t want to survive in this state until I overdose – I want to _live._ B-but I need your help, just for a little while…I need to get off the drugs and then…well, and then get on with my life.”

“You’re really ready to come off the drugs?” Kurt nods, slowly.

“I think I can do it. If – if you’re with me.” He gives Dave a questioning look and Dave knows exactly what he’s asking – he’s asking if Dave is willing to go through this, to take Kurt on, to potentially be stuck with him. It’s a heavy request.

“Of course I’m with you, Kurt.” Dave replies, voice sturdy. He knows exactly what he’s offering: to take Kurt into his home, to watch him through the withdrawal, to help him sort his life out. It’s not a decision he should be making in a split second, but he does it anyway. Because Dave knows what he wants, too.

He wants Kurt, like he always has. Only this time there’s a chance he might be able to have him. 

* * *

“You can sleep on the sofa.” Dave leads Kurt into the living room, even though he probably remembers the way from last time. He looks a little less ill than earlier, but he’s still painfully pale, as if in a state of constant terror. Dave wonders briefly if he should hide any prescription drugs and sharp knifes. Hell, he should have taken Kurt to hospital as soon as he found him, but somehow he can’t bring himself to do anything against Kurt’s will. Kurt drops his bag at his feet and stretches, before regarding the sofa with a disdainful look.

“But it’s so short! I can’t fit on there.”

“You’re only–” but he’s wrong, Kurt isn’t short, not any more. In the six years gone by, he’s grown into a man. Dave would have liked to see him transform – his growth spurt can’t have come much after he left. He wonders if Kurt’s voice ever broke; he remembers it high, but it’s still like that. Maybe it dropped a little, but Dave can’t remember that well. “You get the sofa. Stop complaining.” Kurt lets out a little groan and throws himself down on the sofa. He was right; it is too short.

He ignores the grumbles and goes into the kitchen. “You want a drink?” he calls into the other room, and Kurt doesn’t answer, but jumps up and follows him.

“Yeah. Anything.” he says dismissively. “You have a really nice house, you know? Did I already say that?”

“You might have mentioned it.”

“Sorry. It’s just… wow. How can you afford this place?”

“My dad helps support me, and I work weekends and some evenings, plus holidays, at a law firm. Nothing important, since I’m still a student, but the pay’s okay.”

“You’re studying _law?”_ Kurt seems appalled he didn’t know this before. Dave recalls mentioning he was a student in one of their encounters but he’d never mentioned what he was actually studying.

“Surprised?” Dave’s lips quirk into a smile and he raises an eyebrow in a way Kurt could only call _sassy._

“But…you’re _Karofsky!”_ Kurt says it like it’s some sort of disease, “You can’t be _smart!_ I thought you’d be studying… I don’t know, sport, or something.”

Dave tries not to look offended. “I’m smarter than I let on back then.”

“Prove it. Say something smart. Tell me a law.” Dave tries not to roll his eyes.

“Fine...” Dave scours his mind for some vague law he’s had to memorize recently, and says the fist one that comes to mind, “2.02 General Requirements of Culpability: Except as provided in Section 2.05, a person is not guilty of an offense unless he acted purposely, knowingly, recklessly or negligently, as the law may require, with respect to each…” his breath catches, “…material element of the offense.”

Even though he memorized it for an exam just a few weeks ago, it’s suddenly difficult to remember _Provision 2.02_ of the _MPC_ , since Kurt is pressing against him, moaning softly. “Keep going.” He says, grinding slowly against Dave. So apparently smart _is_ sexy. Who’d have thought?

This is probably a bad idea. Especially given that Kurt’s about to go into withdrawal, and that they’re going to be living together. But Dave speaks on; unable to resist the way Kurt is reacting, and the mischievous smile playing on his pouting lips. “A person acts purposely with… with respect to a material element of an… _Jesus, Kurt…_ an offense when the element involves… involves…”

“Mmnn, yeah, that’s so hot.”

Dave can’t hold back any more. He grabs Kurt by the hips and kisses him hard, feeling Kurt smile into the kiss. Kurt slinks his arms around him and gropes Dave’s ass, causing him to jerk forwards. Kurt moans and thrusts back, and the two form a rhythm as they kiss. When they finally break apart, Kurt starts kissing down his neck, urging him to continue with the strange charade. Dave tries desperately to remember what he was saying before, even as Kurt bites at his collarbone eagerly.

“…involves the nature of… _hgnn_ …of his conduct or a result thereof… it is his conscious object to engage in conduct of that nature…fuck, this is the weirdest dirty talk I have ever done….”

“God, Dave, keep going.” Kurt throws back his head and moans softly. He fumbles with Dave’s jean button and fly before slipping his hand down and palming Dave’s cock.

“… _aaah_ …shit, Kurt, I can’t…I can’t remember…” Dave really can’t concentrate like this, so he decides to distract Kurt by undoing his jeans and pulling them down past his ass. Then he cups Kurt through his underwear before sliding that down too. Dave grasps them both, moaning at the friction of his hand combining with his dick rubbing against Kurt’s. He can’t fit his hand around both of them, and before he can move his other hand, Kurt’s fingers are brushing his and moving in unison. He uses his other hand to unbutton Dave’s shirt so he can run his palm along the taut muscles of Dave’s chest, gripping the hair there and pulling gently but hard enough to make Dave groan.

For what feels like an eternity, the two men jerk and thrust together, moaning and swearing, kissing and biting every bit of skin they can reach. Dave, with his hands still wrapped almost around both of them, leaves Kurt’s lips for a moment and starts to kiss along his jaw, before leaning upwards and taking Kurt’s earlobe into his mouth. “Kurt…” he whispers hotly, and that’s all it takes.

Kurt’s orgasm tears through him before he can even warn Dave, his body shuddering and writhing against the bigger one he’s pressed against. Dave watches his face twisting, his mouth opening in silent gasps, his eyelids fluttering and his own juddering release overcomes him. They both collapse against each other, until Kurt falls to his knees, pulling Dave down and kissing him again, lazy but deep. Dave just lets himself be kissed in a haze of post orgasmic pleasure as Kurt, energized, explores his mouth.

Then, panting, they fall flat on their backs on the kitchen floor; Kurt’s shirt is sticky and he’s smiling softly to himself.

“I’ve never done that in the kitchen before.” Dave says, slightly awed.

“I hope it was clean.” Kurt muses, and Dave isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be a joke, what with the places Kurt usually has sex. Then he laughs gently, “I could really use that drink now.”

Dave stands and pulls up his jeans slightly reluctantly. Neither of them had gotten undressed fully. “Coming right up.” Kurt giggles at that, and Dave finds himself falling into easy laughter too. It’s so easy to laugh now, whilst the two of them are alone here, no one in the world to bother them.

“Beer?” Dave is sure that Kurt will wrinkle his nose to that and refuse, since he’d only seen him drink spirits before and, well, it’s _Kurt,_ but he only nods with a small smile. His cock is still out, soft and pink, his jeans rolled down his thighs. Dave briefly wonders what 16-year-old Kurt would have thought of his lack of modesty. He’d probably have blushed bright red and covered his eyes, Dave decides. Then again, 16-year-old Dave would probably do the same; only make some homophobic comment first.

He hands Kurt a bottle and watches the other man hop up, tuck himself back in and zip up his pants before taking it. He eyes the bottle and raises an eyebrow.

“Only got one glass.” Dave explains, even though Kurt was probably just joking. “And I can’t be assed to clean it, so no complaints.”

Kurt shrugs amusedly, “I said nothing.” And he strolls off to the living room area with a smirk. Dave follows him, unable to keep the smile off his own face. Kurt’s already slumped onto the sofa and he pats the space next to him invitingly, as if Dave _needs_ permission to sit of his own couch.

“So, one glass?” Kurt questions, as he leans against Dave. “Oh, come on, I had to ask. When I came for dinner, we ate off different sized plates, too. How come?”

“I don’t exactly have that many guests.” Dave says with a sigh, “I mean, my friends come over every so often but we mostly go out. So it’s easier just to have one set of everything. Stops me having a giant pile of washing, you know?”

“That’s just _sad._ ”

Dave wants to ask if _he’d_ had more than one set of everything, but with a churn in his stomach, he remembers the pile of paper plates and the plastic cutlery he’d seen at Kurt’s place. _“The water supply is a bit dodgy.”_ Kurt had said at one point.

So instead, he grins a wide grin and shrugs, “I’m a sad, sad bachelor student with no one to keep me company.”

Kurt laughs at that. Dave likes seeing him laugh and smile, even if the smiles don’t always reach his eyes; as if he’s happy, but a part of him remembers that the happiness is only temporary. Just like his fixes.

But Kurt’s smiles are addictive too, and as he pulls him close on that sofa, he relishes in one of them. “You have me.” Kurt says. It’s a joke, but neither of them laughs. Probably because they both know it’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 5:
> 
> Reference to prostitution  
> Reference to non consensual sex  
> Drug addiction  
> Reference to suicide attempt  
> Suicidal thoughts  
> Explicit sex


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting better...or are they???
> 
> (Spoiler alert, they're not. Everything is terrible.) 
> 
> Check the end notes for content warnings!

**_Six_ **

It really begins the next morning.

It’s when Dave walks into the living room; Kurt awakens shivering and Dave knows what’s happening immediately. Kurt’s withdrawal is starting. He looks half-dead already, and it can’t have been more than 12 hours ago that he last had a fix.

He looks up at Dave with big, pained eyes and draws the sheet around himself like a cocoon. “Dave…oh god, I’ve changed my mind.” He groans, burying his head in his pillow. Dave comes to sit down next to him and Kurt immediately wraps his arms around him, tangling them both in the covers.

“No, you haven’t.” Dave says, rubbing a circle on Kurt’s back. “You’re stronger than that.” Dave knows that you’re supposed to reassure them, that’s the first thing, make sure they know they’re strong enough to get through. Keep their hope intact.

“Ugh. Why are you always right?” Kurt whines, “I need to eat. Like, a horse or something.”

“I don’t have any horses, but I can make you a bacon sandwich?” Dave suggests, smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes; they’re filled with concern.

“Oh, fuck me, yes.” Kurt lets out a groan, and flips over so he can stretch out. Dave hears his bones popping as he extends his spine.

Dave goes to make them both breakfast whilst Kurt flitters around him looking like a zombie but still trying to help. He’s only just put the bacon in the pan when Kurt seems to turn green and sprints out of the room. Dave, panicking, throws the food aside and follows to find Kurt upchucking in the bathroom.

“Fucking _shit!”_ Kurt swears between heaves, “How am I hungry and sick at the same fucking time?!” Dave kneels beside him, staring as sweat rolls off his shivering skin.

“When was the last time you had something?”

“Coke, half of it the day before last, the rest yesterday lunchtime. Then… then I tried to take the pills and haven’t had anything since.”

“And heroin?”

“A few days ago, I think. Yeah, three days or so. Usually I get a little nauseous but I just take the coke and ignore it.” He dry heaves a little, before breaking into a fit of coughs. Dave runs his hand along his back, wincing at how much his spine juts out.

“Okay.” he says, gently. “So according to the internet research I did, the coke could cause mental shit like depression and mood swings. As far as it goes, I think it’s more a psychological addiction, but heroin is more a physical one. What do you feel like?”

Kurt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Well, I want coke. I would literally cut my dick off to have coke right now. But I also feel like I’m going to vomit again and I can’t stop fucking shaking, which is either because I haven’t had heroin for a while and I’ve finally noticed or because I need a fucking drink.”

Oh, wow. Dave marvels at how fucked up Kurt’s body probably is right now. Not for the first time, he wonders if they should really be trying to do this themselves, rather than Kurt checking into a rehab clinic. But every time he brings it up with Kurt, the guy won’t even consider it, begs Dave to let him try it without rehab, and Dave…well, Dave doesn’t have the will to argue with him.

“Right. Well, I’m going to make you some soup and you’re going to eat it, even if it comes back up again. And you’re going to keep drinking the water, okay?” Kurt nods weakly. “Do you want to watch a movie to take your mind off it?”

“I want to curl up in the fetal position and wait for judgment day.” Dave sends him a glare. “Yeah, a movie sounds good.”

The shaking doesn’t stop as the day goes on. Kurt will pause every so often and the hairs on his arms will stand on end and he’ll shudder like he’s been dropped in the Arctic Circle. And yet, no matter how cold he is, the sweating doesn’t cease either. He’s caught between the bathroom and his sofa, either retching or the victim of other bodily functions Dave doesn’t want to think about.

Dave doesn’t know what to do, as he watches Kurt stand up and bolt for the bathroom every ten minutes. They’re having a Desperate Housewives marathon, all eight seasons, but Kurt is agitated, fidgety and can’t stop moving around. Dave feels helpless, because he knows there’s nothing he could do but he would do _anything._

It feels like the longest day of Dave’s life, so he can’t even imagine how Kurt suffers through it.

He makes him eat chicken soup, and Kurt accepts it with a pained smile and manages to keep it down, thank god. Then Dave curls up on the sofa with him and a movie until he falls asleep an hour in. His feet hang over the edge, and Dave feels a little guilty about that. He vows to let Kurt share his bed tomorrow night.

Dave pads to bed, throwing on his clothes and lies back, exhausted. He stares at the ceiling and feels his stomach squirm with worry for half an hour before he finally drifts off.

He’s a damn heavy sleeper, but there’s no missing Kurt’s scream piercing the night like a knife.

He’s there in seconds, and feels panic flood through him all over again as he sees Kurt’s terrified expression. Kurt launches himself at Dave and lets out a stream of babbled words and sobs.

“Can’t do it… please, no! Please, oh god, please don’t make me! Don’t touch me, _don’t touch me!”_ He screeches, shoving Dave back with all his strength. Tears streak down his face and he’s thrashing dangerously until Dave catches his arms in his hands. That just makes Kurt scream more, so Dave pulls him close and soothes him, rubbing circles on his back.

“Hey, hey! It was a dream, just a dream.” He whispers as Kurt sobs in his arms. “You’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here”’ Kurt’s hands grasp his back hard, and Dave knows he understands. He lets Kurt stay like this for a few minutes until his breathing has calmed down, and pulls back. “Are you alright?”

Kurt nods, eyes red and shaking so hard he could be having a seizure. He tries to crawl back onto the sofa, but Dave stops him, “Nu-uh.” he says, gently. “You’re being upgraded. I want to keep you close to me in case that happens again.”

“No!” Kurt chokes out, “Don’t want to…” he trails off and Dave flicks a hair out of his eyes. Kurt mumbles something else and Dave just has to hear the words _intrude_ and _sorry_ to know that Kurt’s feeling guilty.

“Don’t be stupid. Come on, bed.” But Kurt won’t move, instead kicking out with one foot and letting out another sob.

“I’m _fine!_ You… I don’t want to make you… I’ll stay here, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He protests weakly, batting Dave’s hands away from him.

Dave sighs, rolls his eyes and scoops Kurt up in his arms. Kurt squeaks in response, writhing against him, but after a moment gives up and flops in his grip, not even possessing the energy to fight anymore.

Now Dave might not know much about nutrition, but he knows that Kurt should weigh a hell of a lot more than this. As he lays Kurt on the bed, he stares at the tear blotched face and tries not to well up himself. It’s not fair how helpless Kurt looks, how weak he is. It must be so frustrating for him, especially with the strong, powerful personality he had always possessed.

He slides in next to Kurt and Kurt’s arms slink around him. He relaxes into him and lets him bury his face in his chest. He can feel Kurt’s breath there, warm but jagged. It feels good to have him so close, even if he knows Kurt barely sleeps, because at least if Kurt’s awake all night, he’s not alone.

* * *

It only gets worse. Day two, Kurt rises after a sleepless night, eats a little muesli and yoghurt, and Dave can’t convince him to do anything else at all. He traipses back to bed and stays there all day, except for the occasional dash to the bathroom.

It’s as if someone has set half-speed on a movie. Kurt’s sluggish and when Dave tries to coax him out of bed, he stares up at him with half-lidded eyes and grumbles incoherently. Any sleep he lost the previous night, he certainly regains during the day. He won’t answer in full sentences and even _Grey’s Anatomy_ won’t raise the slightest hint of enthusiasm.

Dave doesn’t know what to do. The physical symptoms are easy to deal with: keep a bucket handy, a close eye on him and lots of water and soup for keeping him nourished. But this, this he doesn’t know how to help with. He can’t make Kurt leave the bed, even though he knows it can’t be good letting him lie there all day.

It makes him uneasy, being this helpless around Kurt. He’s the kind of guy who’s never had problems taking control in his life. That’s one of the reasons why the accepting his sexuality was always so hard for him; he had no control over it. It was all very well shoving gay kids around, but it sure as hell didn’t make him straight.

He goes to get groceries in the morning of day three, reluctantly leaving Kurt alone in the house, asleep. After spending the whole day before in bed, Kurt had exhausted his capacity to sleep and had spent the night fidgeting and trying to get comfy, whilst Dave tried to ignore the panic that seized him every time Kurt moved. It wasn’t until around six in the morning that Kurt finally drifted off, and when Dave woke up at around eleven, he was out for the count.

He carries out his shopping as usual, though he buys more food, even if Kurt won’t eat. Then, he wanders the medicine aisle, unsure if painkillers will help or make the situation worse. Eventually, he settles for buying copious amounts of chocolate instead, struck again with that familiar pang of helplessness.

It’s as he’s walking back that the shop catches his eyes. A key-cutter. His fingers unconsciously grip his keys inside of his pocket.

Is it a terrible idea? It would be practical; just because Kurt isn’t leaving the house now doesn’t mean he won’t have to eventually, that is, if he’s still around. It’s a big step, a _commitment,_ and Dave really doesn’t like that word.

He goes into the shop anyway. Hands over his key, goes to a café and window shops for the hour wait, and heads back home with a spare key. As he enters his house, the key feels illogically heavy in his pocket and he can’t help but turning it over in one of his hands.

Kurt is sat in the bedroom, still wrapped in sheets, but awake. He looks exhausted, and Dave wonders if he plans on going right back to sleep.

“How are you feeling? Do you want me to get you anything? What do you want?”

“You fucking _know_ what I want!” The venom in Kurt’s voice surprises Dave, but his glare fades immediately when he realizes what he said. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…really bad right now.”

Dave stares down at him, at the bags under his eyes and the pallid hue of his skin. He looks sick, really sick, the kind of sick that puts you in hospital. That familiar worry claws in his stomach; what if they can’t do this?

“Kurt, do you think maybe it’s time to consider getting professional help?” He suggests, very softly, and reaches to touch Kurt’s face. His hand is batted away.

“I already told you, that’s _not_ an option! I have no money! And don’t you dare suggest paying for me, you know I can’t let you do that!” Kurt voice takes on that insanely high pitch that means he’s really emotional. But Dave isn’t ready to back down just yet.

“There are places you can apply where you don’t have to pay, and there are support groups–”

“ _No._ I’m not going to sit around in a circle and discuss my feelings with a bunch of strangers. Fuck that.” He pulls back even further, putting space between himself and Dave. His eyes are dark and angry, but also red with welling tears.

“For fuck’s sake, Kurt, don’t you _want_ to get better?” Dave knows he should yell bur he just can’t help it. It’s so frustrating, trying to help Kurt when he just won’t accept it. But the look of pain on Kurt’s face and the way his stomach churns makes it clear that he’s probably not going to win this battle.

“Of course I do! But I don’t need doctors or group therapy to do it! I… I just need you, that’s all I need! Please, Dave, just leave it alone!” Kurt begs, grabbing Dave’s hand and squeezing it tight. His face is red and blotchy, and tears are straining at the corners of his eyes.

“I can’t just _leave it alone!_ You’re in so much pain, Kurt, and it’s going to get worse. Don’t you think there’s an easier way? Unless…you’re not trying to _punish_ yourself, are you?” Kurt doesn’t respond to that, his face flushing, and Dave has his answer. “Kurt, I swear to god–”

“I’m begging you, Dave. Let me do this!”

“You can do this in a safe place, surrounded by professionals.” Dave argues, but even as he says it, he knows he’s going to lose. He’s sounding less confident by the second, and Kurt is just getting more emotional.

“ _Please,_ Dave. I’m not trying to punish myself, I promise. I just…I want something in my life under _my_ control, you know? I want to do this.”

“Kurt–”

“Please.” His eyes are big and pleading and how the fuck can Dave say no to that? He nods curtly and Kurt lets out a sigh of relief and mouths _thank you_ to him. For a moment, they sit in silence, Kurt still wrapped in the bedcovers and leaning against Dave. A minute later, Kurt reaches for Dave and pulls him into a kiss. His breath is stale, but Dave savors the contact nonetheless. When they pull back, Kurt rests his forehead against Dave’s, and at this distance, some of his tears drip onto Dave’s face.

They shift slightly, so that Kurt can lie back. He curls up, breathing heavily, and Dave rests his hands on his shoulder, rubbing gently. It isn’t for a few more minutes that he remembers about the key.

“Shit, I forgot, I have something for you.” Dave says, jumping up. There’s no answer; Dave looks down only to see Kurt asleep, even with the tears still drying on his face. He looks so drained that he doesn’t have the heart to wake him, even though he’ll probably sleep far too much today.

He tries to find Kurt’s keys, so that he can fasten on a house key for him. Maybe it’s best not to make a big thing of it; he can grab the keys from Kurt’s bag and slip it on. But he can’t find the damn things anywhere, so he fumbles around in the bag until…

Dave knows exactly what the plastic is even before he pulls the packet out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 6:
> 
> Drug Withdrawal  
> Drug addiction  
> Unhealthy approach to drug addiction recovery  
> Description of depression  
> Reference to prostitution  
> Reference to suicide attempt  
> Suicidal thoughts


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to be super depressing 🙃
> 
> Chapter warnings in the end notes!

**_Seven_ **

****

He doesn’t mention it right away. He _can’t,_ he doesn’t know what to say, how to address it. He’s so _angry_ and hurt and it’s like Kurt’s betrayed him. He knows it’s not personal; he’s read horrible stories about how far addicts will go to get a hit, and even Kurt’s life itself is a testament to that.

But in the middle of another restless night, he gets up, and starts for the bag. He’s been shaking violently for a few hours, sobbing silently to himself. Dave has been pretending to sleep, but as soon as he hears the rustling, he’s on his feet.

A few quick steps and the room is bright with artificial light. For a moment, Kurt looks like a deer caught in headlights, but he relaxes after a moment. That is, until Dave grabs him by the collar and pulls him to his feet.

Kurt lets out a small shriek, and begins to struggle. “Let me go _,_ _please_ , Dave! _”_ You’d think by now Kurt would know that he can’t win against Dave’s strength, but he damn well tries. Dave’s arms are fastened around his waist so he’s pressed against Kurt’s back. His feet thrash and Dave briefly worries for his balls but Kurt manages not to kick him.

“What, so you can go and get your stash?” Dave hisses in Kurt’s ear. Even the words feel sour on his lips.

Just the sight of the little packet of white power made him feel the anger than he’s held off since his teenage years. Even now, later, the anger comes rushing back like he’s just found out the information. Maybe it’s because Kurt’s confirming that he really did intend to _use_ the drugs he had stashed in his bag.

“The fuck are you–” Kurt starts to protest as Dave lets him go, but he’s cut off.

“Oh, don’t bullshit me, Kurt, I know you brought it with you, I found it in your bag.” He says as Kurt spins around to look at him.

All the color drains from Kurt’s face and Dave can practically _hear_ every thought running through his head.

_He found my stash –_ that’s probably the first, because, fuck it, the drugs come first, right?

_He knows I lied –_ and then Dave. Dave’s trust, the guilt at betraying him.

_Where is it, what did he do with it, where is it, I need it, I need it_ now! – and that part’s all in the eyes. The glancing around, the sheer and utter terror. That packet was his lifeline, the only thing he had left and now Dave’s got it. Even if he hadn’t been planning on using it, it was _there_ and now it’s out of his reach and Dave’s holding the power.

“Where is it?” Kurt drops to his knees and throws his arms around Dave’s legs. “Please, Dave…give it to me, _please!”_

“No.” Dave’s voice is firm, but Kurt doesn’t let go.

“ _Please,_ oh god please, Dave! I’ll do anything, fucking _anything!”_ And here, his hand snakes up to Dave’s crotch. “I’ll suck you off…you can fuck me, you can cum on me…” Dave’s hand meets his shoulders and he’s flung off, hitting the ground with a dull thud. He can’t help it, not when he’s so angry, not when Kurt’s behaving like this.

“Fuck off, Kurt. I’m not your fucking _customer_ anymore.” He hisses, staring down at Kurt. Of course, Kurt’s not deterred, and he’s on the floor begging, wide-eyed.

“I know!” He whines, scrambling at Dave’s feet. “Dave, I know you’re not; you’re so much more, god, I’ll do anything, _anything!_ I’ll be your slave, please, I’ll be your fucking slave…I’ll cook and clean and you can fuck me all night, I don’t care just _give it to me!”_ The last four words come out as a half-shout and half-scream, and tears are starting to streak down his cheeks.

His eyes are so bloodshot they could almost be red, and he’s so fucking pale, but it’s the expression that really gets Dave. The look of utter despair and desperation, like he really would do anything in the world to get his drugs. And Dave doesn’t doubt it. If it were humanly possible, Kurt would do it. Fuck, he could probably turn him into a living sex doll and keep him in his basement as long as he supplied him with his fix. In fact, that was pretty much what Mark had done, wasn’t it?

“I flushed it.” Dave says, his voice thick, and Kurt’s face looks almost _green_ now. Before he can react, Kurt is sprinting towards the bathroom just like when he needs to vomit, and Dave has to run to catch him just as he enters the room.

“ _No, no, no, no…”_ Kurt is repeating like a mantra, his voice choked with sobs. “It’s _gone,_ how could you? It’s fucking _gone!”_ He’s kneeling at the toilet where he _swears_ he can see a smudge of white dust around the top there and he could totally reach that with his hand…

“Do you even _see_ yourself Kurt? You’re thinking about fishing it out of a fucking _toilet,_ for fuck’s sake!” Kurt sobs against the cold porcelain as Dave spits out his words, “I know you are, don’t even bother. You’re _pathetic,_ you know that?”

The words burst out of him and Dave knows it’s hateful and cruel, and he wants to be _better_ , but he doesn’t know how to do this and not be furious. He can’t stop the rage he’s feeling in reaction to what he knows deep down isn’t a betrayal, but that doesn’t make it easier right now.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Dave begins to say, but Kurt interrupts him.

“Fuck you.” Kurt’s voice echoes in the basin. “ _Fuck you,_ Dave! Get the fuck out and leave me alone!”

Dave feels the rage flare up again, “What, so you can lick the fucking basin clean in hopes of tasting some of your precious fucking powder?! No way. I’m going to sit here and watch.”

Kurt answers with an echoed wail, and Dave stays there for about ten minutes, watching him cry into the toilet, his shoulders jolting with every drawn out sob, his voice choking until Dave thinks he might actually throw up again.

Then Kurt twists his head, and now Dave can see the red blotchiness of his face as Kurt scrambles towards him and sinks his face into his neck with a single high-pitched sob.

“I _hate_ you.” He chokes out, pounding his fists down on Dave’s chest hard _._ “I hate you. I fucking hate you!” He’s repeating it over in time with the strikes but they’re weakening and over but soon Dave can feel his fingers gripping his back through the shirt and he can feel Kurt calming down as he gently rocks him. “I hate you.” He says a final time, but at least now Dave is sure he doesn’t mean it. Well, mostly sure. Kurt’s grip tightens and so does Dave’s.

Dave feels like absolute shit. He wants to be better. He should be _better,_ he’s seen documentaries about addiction, he’s read the goddamn wikihow but it’s just so difficult. Everything feels so fucking personal, like Kurt is choosing to hurt him.

He knows it’s not really a choice. It’s not a choice. So, he holds Kurt tight and tries to forgive him. To understand him. He doesn’t understand it at all, but he forces himself to try.

Eventually, Kurt’s sobs abate and, like before, Dave waits for his breathing to slow, staring at the top of his matted hair and wondering when Kurt will start to care about its condition again. He wonders when Kurt will spend hours on a morning facial routine, or spray his hair with the can that Dave always saw in his locker, or even check the mirror as he walks past rather than glancing at it out the corner of his eye before looking away with a wince.

As the anger starts to seep away, he stares at the person before him and wonders when he’ll be _Kurt_ again. He wonders _if_ he’ll ever be Kurt again.

* * *

Dave doesn’t want to leave Kurt alone, but it’s the weekend, and he does actually have a job to go to. He’s lucky that he’s had the past few weeks off for exams, but he promised he’d come in this Saturday and Sunday. He almost feels like he should get a babysitter.

As far as Dave’s seen, Kurt’s been remarkably less depressed since last night, and Dave admits he’s wondered briefly if Kurt did manage somehow to get hold of something. He knows he can’t have; he allowed Dave to check through all of his things, and he’s barely left Dave’s side.

But that was the morning. Now Kurt’s alone and suddenly everything hurts again. Dave is the perfect distraction; focusing on him can make the pain go away momentarily. But there’s no one here right now.

There are no words to describe the cravings. It’s disgusting to admit, but he would have happily snorted the powder off that fucking toilet seat if he had the chance. Right about now there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for a hit. If Mark were here…god, he doesn’t even want to think about it. The only think between him and a relapse is that he isn’t letting himself turn on his mobile phone, where Mark has undoubtedly left him dozens of voicemails.

His finger brushes the power button, but he doesn’t press it.

A phone rings in the distance and his heart skips a beat. It’s Dave’s home phone, but it’s cordless so he’s not sure exactly where it is. He leaps to his feet, wondering briefly about the etiquette in answering the phone for…well, for whatever Dave was to Kurt.

The ringing continues and Kurt darts around in panic, looking for it. It’s somewhere on Dave’s desk, undoubtedly under the masses of paper and books.

“Fucking phone!” Kurt cries as he tries to find the damn thing amongst Dave’s mess. The high-pitched ring tone is the most annoying thing he’s ever heard, and does nothing to soothe his migraine. _Aha!_ Kurt plucks the device from a pile of papers on homicide victims and tries frantically to unlock the screen so he can see who’s calling. However, his finger presses or swipes or something and the phone flashes and the ringing stops, so Kurt presses it to his ear impatiently.

“Hello?” He answers, not sure what the protocol is on answering other people’s phones for them. “Dave Karofsky’s phone.”

There’s a long pause. Kurt wonders briefly if this is a prank call, like the ones he used to get all the time when he was a kid, but he thinks that hopefully that’s something people grow out of as the years go by.

Then, a single word:

“Kurt?”

It’s been six years, but Kurt would never forget Finn Hudson’s voice.

***

“Dave!” Kurt squeaks the moment Dave picks up his phone. He sounds panicked, the kind of panic that he’s heard from Kurt in their most frightening moments. He immediately assumes the worst; Kurt’s slipped up, Kurt’s in danger, Kurt’s hurt. “It’s _Finn!”_

He doesn’t expect _that_.

“What the hell, Kurt?” He queries, baffled. What has Finn got to do with anything? He’s in Lima, with everything else Kurt is trying to avoid.

“Finn just called you! I…I picked up the phone and he knew, fuck, he knew it was me! What do I do!?”

Horror surges through him, “Oh, _shit.”_ he says, unable to think of something more eloquent.

“Yeah, that about sums it up! What do I _do,_ Dave?”

“I…I don’t know! I –” Dave’s phone beeps against his ear, telling him there’s an incoming call. “I think he’s phoning me! Shit, I…okay, I’ll make something up.”

He cuts off Kurt and switches the caller, “Hello?” he asks into the phone, trying not to sound too suspicious.

“Hey, Dave, it’s Finn.” The former star of McKinley’s voice drifts down the line. It’s sharper, deeper than it was in high school, and the dozy tone to it is almost non-existent now. The way he even sounds like a man who survived a war amazes Dave every time.

“Finn? Hey, haven’t heard from you in a while.” Dave tries for casual but ends up robotic more than anything. Thankfully Finn doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“Well, yeah, that’s why I called. Thought I’d catch up and…uh, Dave…” He clears his throat and for a moment, he sounds ever so slightly hysterical, as if he’s scared of something.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy.” And there it is; of course someone like Finn would be afraid of coming off as insane. No doubt there were people that looked at him that way when he was at his worst stage of PTSD.

“How crazy?” Dave asks, dubiously, preparing to act surprised.

Finn sounds so unsure of himself that it’s actually a little sad. He’s never been the smartest guy, but he does get put down a lot. It seems like he’s almost expecting Dave to laugh at him. “Well, I called your house before I tried your cell, and…well, somebody answered.”

“Oh, really?” Soon Dave was going to be speaking as high as Kurt does. He waits as Finn takes a deep breath.

“Dave, I could swear it was… I thought it was Kurt.”

“Kurt?!” Dave steps up his acting, but the panic is still very real, “As in Kurt Hummel? Your late-brother Kurt?”

“Yes! I told you it was crazy.”

“Dude, that’s totally insane.” Dave says nervously, not without huge amounts of guilt, and then an idea hits him, “There’s no one at my house, unless, _oh!”_

“What?” Finn sounds more like his high school self then, with the tone of bewilderment.

“It couldn’t have been a woman, could it? ‘Cause I…uh, well, I left a chick there this morning and she might not have left yet.” Dave deploys his future lawyer skills with all his might, lying smoothly, and ignoring the guilt eating at his insides. He shouldn’t lie to Finn, Finn is one of the few guys in Lima who he actually trusts. Heck, he’s one of the guys Dave actually plans on telling about his sexuality one day.

Finn pauses for thought, “Yeah, it could have been a woman.” he says, sounding very unsure. Dave just listens as he talks himself out of his own case, “Probably was a woman. Don’t know what I was thinking, sorry dude.”

They descend into small talk after that, and after a few minutes Finn promises to call back again sometime on his home phone so they can talk properly. They don’t do this very often, but Finn seems to really want to talk to a person outside of Lima every once in a while. Which basically leaves Dave and a scattered few of the Glee kids, including his ex. Since they can’t go out and get a drink and chat then, he calls Dave every few months for a catch up. It’s nice, to hear all the news from his hometown, and Finn is quite happy to be openly honest about his pain to Dave, now that he’s seen it before. Finn has always been the type to bottle it all up and stay strong for everyone else’s sake, but Dave knows more than anyone that there’s got to be someone a guy can vent to.

He calls Kurt immediately afterwards, “I have to get back to work, but it’s sorted, don’t worry. I’ll explain later.”

Kurt gives a relieved sigh, and thanks him before Dave signs off and gets back to work before he gets in trouble. He gets home a few hours later, and Kurt’s curled up on the sofa, watching _Judge Judy._ He looks somewhere between bored out of his mind and brain dead, but when Dave walks in he jumps unsteadily to his feet.

“What did you tell him?” He asks, suddenly panicky. He’s sweating and shivering at the same time, and looks as bad, if not worse than he did the other day

“I told him it was some chick and he believed me.” Dave says, leaning forwards and placing his palm on Kurt’s forehead in an attempt to find out if he has a fever. Kurt pulls a face and retreats from the hand.

“Oh, great. So glad that my phone voice _still_ sounds like a woman.” Kurt says, with fake enthusiasm. Then he seems to flinch slightly, and reaches for his pocket. His mobile flashes, and he looks at it, but does nothing, instead shoving it back in his pocket. “So, he has no clue I’m alive then?”

The truth is, Dave considered it. He considered telling Finn the truth, that his stepbrother was alive, was an addict, and that he needed help and wouldn’t accept it. Finn was, after all, an expert in that particular area. Therapy wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to him. Finn would go straight to Burt, of course, and they’d drag Kurt back to Lima and place him in rehab program. Kurt would get better, and everyone would be happy.

But he would have to betray Kurt. He would have to sell him out, and do the one thing Kurt begged him not to do. And then he’d probably never talk to Dave again, and Dave would lose him. He can’t do it; he can’t live without Kurt now.

He suddenly notices that Kurt hasn’t said anything for a while. He glances over to see him curled up in the fetal position, shaking slightly. “Kurt?”

“I’m fine.” Kurt croaks back, but he can’t hide the fact that he’s crying again. Dave leans over and kisses him on the side of the neck. He starts to pull back, but Kurt twists around and catches his lips in a kiss. His hands bury in Dave’s hair as he kisses him deep, hard and desperate, lips salty and wet with tears.

When they pull apart, Dave takes a moment to catch his breath before standing up and murmuring something about making dinner.

Kurt watches him, eyes still glassy, his hand wrapped around the phone in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 7:
> 
> Drug Withdrawal  
> Drug addiction  
> Unhealthy approach to drug addiction recovery  
> Reference to depression  
> Reference to prostitution  
> Reference to suicide attempt  
> Reference to PTSD  
> Gaslighting


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry for disappearing but my laptop broke and took aaaaages to fix. Anyway, thankfully I didn't lose everything, so that's good! Back to delivering angst! 😊 This chapter is really dark, be warned. I've edited it quite heavily since the previous version, but it's still...things are not good for anyone. 
> 
> Content warnings in end notes!

**_Eight_ **

Kurt tries to resist. No, ‘tries’ isn’t a strong enough word for it: every fiber of his being struggles against it, every last nugget of common sense, every tiny speck of his soul tells him not to go. But his body and his brain _crave_ it so much; want it so badly that he’s willing to do anything, _anything_ to relieve it.

Just one hit, that’s all he wants. Just one. Dave would never know, he’d never find out if it was just one, just one and he’d be okay, just one, just _one hit._

He’ll stop after that. He promises. He’ll be good and he’ll stop and he’ll never go back and that will be that. The desire will go away eventually if he just has one hit now. Just one, that’s all he needs.

He doesn’t even understand _why_ he needs it; he knows the reasons behind the addiction but even he can’t justify this utter reliance, the need that is driving him to betray the first person he has ever truly loved.

Betrayal. That’s what this is, and Kurt knows it. Kurt knows that the second Mark hands him that powder he’ll be gone, he’ll be right back at the bottom of the fucking ladder.

No. He’s already there. The second he turned on the phone, listened to those messages and snuck out of Dave’s apartment in the dead of night, he’d dropped at the bottom rung. The moment he stepped into that hotel he might as well have covered the ladder in _oil_ or something because he can’t see any way of climbing it now.

When Harry or Barry or Larry or whatever his name is tonight fucks him, he sobs into the mattress. The client doesn’t complain, after all, Kurt always looks prettiest when he’s crying, right?

* * *

Dave doesn’t wake up easily. Heck, he could probably sleep through an earthquake or small hurricane. So he doesn’t wake up when Kurt’s phone vibrates, and he leaves the bed at 3am. Nor does he wake up at the shallow _thunk_ of the front door closing, or, two hours later, the keys turning and the door opening and closing again.

Funnily enough, it’s the click of the bathroom door that wakes him.

And even then, even at that tiny sound, Dave _knows._

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?!” he bellows, breaking the shoddy lock on the bathroom door with surprisingly little effort, even for an ex-football player.

Kurt’s kneeling, but Dave can see the needle and the elastic band. He knows he’s too late because Kurt’s pupils are already beginning to blow out and he’s shaking like a leaf. Not to mention, his eyes are glancing around and Dave knows that he’s hearing the ringing sound in his ears that sometimes accompanies the hit. Besides him is a quarter empty bottle of cheap store bought vodka.

“Fuck.” is all he says, and Dave doesn’t know what he means.

“Fuck?” He says, his voice low and angry, “That’s all you have to say? Everything you’ve worked for, this whole fucking time…I’ve had to watch you suffer and… _that’s all you have to say?_ _!”_ His voice rises as he goes on, until he’s practically yelling. He can’t do this. He _can’t._

“Dave, I–”

“How did you even pay for it, huh?” Dave hisses. “Let me guess, you sucked a guy off in a dark alleyway? Or did you get a hotel? Did you beg for him, Kurt? Did you beg for him to fuck you? Or was it a quick deal, wham-bam-thank-you-man?” Kurt lets out a sob, his shoulders hunching, drawing his knees up to his chest defensively, but Dave just can’t _stop._ “Did you let him cum on you? I know you like that, you like a man’s cum dripping off you…I bet it was your face. If I kissed you, would I taste his cum, Kurt? Would I?”

Kurt’s begging him to stop now, but Dave can’t, he can’t help the rage building up inside him, the _betrayal_ , that Kurt would let someone else touch him, that Kurt would be so _weak,_ that he cares about Dave _so little…_

Because that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? He’s angry because Kurt chose drugs over him, values that fucking white powder more than he values Dave.

“I bet you haven’t even had time to wash him off you yet.” He growls, pulling Kurt to his feet, his grip on the smaller man’s arms too tight. Kurt whimpers beneath him but doesn’t struggle, doesn’t fight it as Dave’s hand moved to his shirt, tugging at the collar.

 _“Please,_ Dave, _stop…”_ Kurt whines, but Dave ignores him. There’s no stopping him now, no stopping the anger that courses through him like whatever the fuck Kurt’s just injected into himself. He’s beyond seeing red now, so furious he’s even scaring himself.

“I can smell him, his fucking stench all over you.” He whispers, breathing in deeply at Kurt’s neck where the sweat-drenched t-shirt meets his skin. Then he lets go of Kurt, and he sinks to the ground.

“Dave, please…please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Kurt begs.

“Didn’t mean to _what,_ Kurt? Didn’t mean to take Mark up on his offer? Don’t give me that look; I _know_ you’ve been in contact with him. He got you the drugs, didn’t he? In exchange for a _client._ ”

“Y-yes, but I didn’t mean–”

“No, Kurt! You can’t use that one here; you knew _exactly_ what you were doing. You _know_ he was using you, your _addiction!_ You know that! And yet you _still_ fall for it?! Well, fuck you, Kurt! I want you _out!”_

Kurt stops crying for a moment and stare up at Dave in utter shock. His pupils are completely dilated now and Dave can see that the information isn’t really sinking in, he can see the euphoria from the drug mashing with the hurt and the pain and it just isn’t _working._ He’s still shaking violently like he’s cold, but sweating, his face wet with perspiration and tears.

“You don’t mean that.” He whispers, eyes fixed on Dave. “Take it back. You don’t mean that.” Dave says nothing, and Kurt claws at his feet, “ _Take it back!”_

“You can pack in the morning.” Dave says, his voice thick in his throat. “I want you out by lunch.”

“ _No!”_ Kurt screams, really _screams_. “I can’t…please, Dave, you know I can’t, I’ll just go back to him, I can’t do it, you can’t let me…”

“Then go back to him! That’s what you want, isn’t it? Go back to your precious _Mark_ and when the coke gets you, or when you get too old to whore yourself out, watch him abandon you!”

“ _You’re_ abandoning me!”

“No fucking way, Kurt, you are _not_ pinning this on me. _You_ are the one that won’t get professional help. _I’m_ the one who had to put up with all your bullshit! _I’m_ the one who stuck by you and _you’re_ the one who fucked it all up!”

“Please, Dave…” and his tone drops, now sultry and low. Dave knows what’s coming. Kurt is on his feet again, moving towards him. “Come on, don’t be like that. I won’t do it again.” He presses himself up against Dave, who tenses. “I promise I won’t. I’ll be a good boy, so good, I promise. Now,” he purrs, stroking Dave’s hair with one hand and gently pushing against his crotch with the other, “let’s just go to bed and forget all about this.”

“Kurt, stop it.” Dave says firmly, gently backing away, but Kurt moves forwards, pressing harder. “Kurt, you’re just embarrassing yourself, _stop.”_

“Oh, don’t resist, you know you want me.” His hand drops and circles Dave’s hip. “I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be so good to you, I’ll let you do whatever you want.” And he leans up to connect their mouths, gently biting on Dave’s bottom lip before swiping his tongue over it. He goes to deepen it but Dave pushes him back, harder this time. _Much_ harder, and perhaps it’s that but also the drugs that cause Kurt to topple to the floor.

“Dave!” He chokes out, voice high and terrified.

“I wish you could see yourself, Kurt. Acting like such a fucking _slut._ Where the fuck has your pride gone, huh? Who _are_ you?”

“I’m _Kurt_! I’m Kurt Hummel!” His voice is small, uncertain. He’s staring up at Dave with a look that he can only describe as desperation. And Dave recognizes it because it’s a look he’s seen only too many times in the last week. It’s the look he gives when he’s begging for coke.

“You are _not_ Kurt Hummel. You haven’t been Kurt Hummel ever since you pumped your veins full of that shit! Now you’re just _Lee;_ a pathetic whore with a drug addiction.”

Kurt freezes. Stares. Shakes.

“I’m not…I’m not…” Kurt sobs, but Dave doesn’t hear the rest because he’s already out of the door.

Dave shuts himself in his bedroom with a slam and curls up in bed, but doesn’t sleep. He lies there for hours, thinking, wishing that his brain would just shut down so he could get a few hours rest, but it doesn’t. Instead, it reels on and no matter what he tries to think about, it always goes back to Kurt.

Guilt hits him like a freight train. He knows he hasn’t done enough research into how to help someone going through withdrawal, but he’s pretty sure he’s just broken every fucking rule.

Oh, god, the things he _did_ to Kurt. The things he _said._ He’s the absolute worst person.

Six fucking years and he still can’t control his _fucking temper._

He half expects to feel him climb into bed some time during the night, but he doesn’t. Several hours later, he wonders where Kurt is; is he even still in the house? Dave gave him until lunch but maybe he’s checked out early.

 _That_ choice of mental wording makes his stomach twist. After all, Kurt had come here because he was suicidal, because he was ready to _check out early._ And Dave had stopped him; saved him. Held him close and told him it was okay, that he had a reason to live, that he had Dave, and that Dave would be there for him.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks, as he throws off his covers and bounds out of his bedroom.

* * *

Kurt sits in Dave’s bathroom and stares at the razorblade.

This isn’t the way he imagined it. It all seemed very romantic in his mind; a quick slash, pooling blood, sobbing friends and family…no, perhaps _romantic_ was the wrong word… _tragic._ He could be Juliet or, fuck, _Ophelia_ , only no poison, or daggers or drowning. Just this razorblade.

The pills were easier. He knew he just had to swallow them, and that was it. Fuck knows _swallowing_ isn’t a foreign concept to him. But then, he couldn’t even do _that,_ what makes him think he can slit his fucking wrists?

Is it down or across he’s supposed to do it?

His face is salty with dried tears, his eyes sore and swollen. Now that the drugs have all but worn off, he can feel the ache in the lower half of his body. His hands shake violently.

Down the road…across the street…there’s some morbid phrase about that, isn’t there?

When people talk about suicide, it always seems so…easy. Like, you just flick a switch and you’re dead. It’s all over. But this isn’t easy.

He knows that Dave will have to find him. He’ll be lying in a pool of blood and probably piss and shit. Dave will find him, and he’ll feel so guilty, but fuck, he’ll get over it. Kurt’s been nothing but a burden to him, anyway.

Dave never wants to see him again. Dave hates him; that’s pretty much what he told him. Kurt’s fingers tighten around the razorblade. He ignores the sharp twang of pain as they dig into the blade and cut through the skin. It doesn’t matter if his hands bleed; that will look pretty minor in comparison to everything else.

Perhaps he should cut both ways, just in case. He’s pretty sure he can’t, though, since he’s going to have to cut pretty deep. Is he supposed to slit _both_ wrists or just the one?

He groans pathetically and hits his bleeding hand against the sink, wincing as pain shoots up it. How the fuck do the people in the movies _do_ this? They make it look so fucking easy, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing, how this is supposed to go.

Maybe that’s because he doesn’t really want to do this after all.

No. He does. If not for him, for Dave. If he leaves, Dave will come searching for him once more, no matter what he said, no matter how much he claims to hate Kurt and never want to see him again. Kurt knows addiction; he knows that Dave won’t last a week before he seeks him out again and they start this whole fucked up thing all over. Dave is hooked on Kurt as much as Kurt is on his drugs.

So this is the only option. Kurt feels unnaturally serene about the idea of dying, it’s just the method that’s stumping him. He doesn’t want to try the overdose again, not after how badly that went last time. A razorblade seemed easier, but here he is, staring down at his hands like they’re detached from his body, wondering where to cut.

He just wants it all to be _over,_ is that too much to ask?

His hands won’t stop shaking as he pushes the blade down onto his skin, drawing a thin line of blood. It stings horribly, but something about it gives him courage to go on. He takes a deep breath, and prepares to cut deep.

 _“Kurt.”_ A single uttered word, and Dave Karofsky has saved his life once again. Kurt jerks, drawing the metal away from his wrist. A little blood is pooling there, and his fingers are red and sticky too. He shakes his head, staring up at Dave with tears in his eyes.

“Kurt, put the razorblade down.” Dave’s voice isn’t calm. It’s laced with terror, not the anger Kurt was expecting.

“I’m doing it for you.” Kurt murmurs, eyes downcast. His fingers sting but he doesn’t let go of the slice of metal.

Dave reaches out, but as he does, Kurt brings the razorblade back to his wrist, making him back away immediately. He clenches his fists and tries to calm his breathing, “Kurt, put that fucking thing down right now.”

“I’m trying to help, Dave.” Kurt says, a small smile playing at his lips. Dave knows for sure he’s delusional, “This is good for you.”

“ _Put it down!”_ Dave shouts, and the noise shocks Kurt so much he actually drops the razorblade. Before he can react, Dave launches forward and kicks it, it so hard it bounces dangerously across the room. Kurt leaps for it, but Dave grabs him by the wrists and pins him to the wall. “Don’t even think about it.” he says, sternly.

“I want to _die.”_ Kurt whines, almost pathetically. He writhes against Dave to try and escape, but he’s not strong enough to break free.

“I won’t let you! Fuck, Kurt, I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t do this.”

Kurt freezes for a second and stares at Dave with wide eyes. Dave is apologizing to him, _apologizing,_ after what he did to him, he’s saying _sorry?_ Kurt doesn’t know what to say, but suddenly he’s sobbing, his entire body shuddering, and his arms clinging to Dave.

“Why aren’t you angry anymore?” Kurt chokes out, his nails digging into Dave’s shoulder and smearing his shirt with blood.

“I’m still mad.” Dave mutters, “But I promised to never leave you and I fucking won’t, no matter what you do.”

Kurt continues to sob quietly, before murmuring something into the fabric of Dave’s shirt. Dave’s not sure, but it sounds like, “I’m not worth it.”

Dave says nothing, but lets his arm relax, leaving Kurt free again. Then, he begins to unbutton Kurt’s shirt, allowing it to fall to the floor. He pulls Kurt’s undershirt over his head, and for second, Kurt does nothing to help, and then he lifts his arms up compliantly. Dave unbuttons his jeans and Kurt steps out of them, and his boxers too. He stands in front of Dave, blood still dripping from the small cut on his wrist and those on his fingers, looking more vulnerable than ever. Dave pulls off his own clothes hurriedly, and then he grasps gently at the wrist that isn’t bleeding, and leads Kurt to the shower.

Kurt barely moves, barely even tries, just lets Dave wash him, wash away the blood with the warm water of the shower. He lathers him with shower gel and washes his body gently, avoiding sensitive areas. After he rinses off the soap, he squeezes more onto his hands stares into Kurt’s eyes, silently asking permission. Kurt answers by pulling his hand down to his lap and resting it there. Very quietly, he murmurs, “Please.”

Dave clasps Kurt’s cock and slathers it with soap, feeling Kurt shudder beneath him. Unsteady on his feet, Kurt snakes an arm around Dave’s shoulder, thrusting against the hand. His other hand blindly searches for the shower gel bottle, and once he finds it, squeezes a generous amount over Dave’s chest. He pulls back slightly, so that Dave can continue caressing him, and unhooks his arm so he can work the soap into Dave’s skin. Dexterous fingers work over his chest and squeeze softly at his nipples, before sliding down to grip Dave’s dick.

In those minutes, Dave forgets all about what Kurt did, and focuses on the man in front of him. How could he possibly think of hurting someone like him? Kurt tips his head up to kiss him and Dave shouldn’t let him, he should at least hesitate but he’s so _hungry_ for it, so he leans down into the kiss. He lets Kurt kiss him, kisses back and denies him nothing.

Eventually Dave’s hands move to squeeze Kurt’s ass and Kurt’s loop around Dave’s neck again. They thrust against each other in a shambolic sort of rhythm, moaning and kissing and whimpering each other’s names. Dave’s juddering release is so intense that it feels like he’s been craving it for months. When Kurt comes, it’s with a moaned sob of Dave’s name and the man collapses against him, his wet hands slipping so much that Dave has to catch him.

He says nothing while Dave dries him with a towel, not objecting at all to the fact that he’s not allowed to do anything. He stays quiet as Dave bandages up his fingers and wrists, and even when Dave scoops him up and carries him to bed, dressed in Dave’s oversized nightshirt, he just thanks him softly and doesn’t make a word of complaint.

In bed, Kurt keeps his back to Dave, staying a fair distance away. For a while, Dave is sure it’s because of what he did earlier, because of how much he frightened Kurt. Then, after a few more minutes, he realizes that it’s not him Kurt’s afraid of; it’s just how he feels. Kurt doesn’t want to upset him again, or do anything wrong.

He reaches around Kurt and pulls him close against himself, reveling in the sigh of relief Kurt gives the moment they make contact. He leans back into Dave, and Dave kisses the top of his head softly.

“I’m so sorry.” Kurt whispers, so quiet that if Dave wasn’t so close, he’d miss it.

“I know.” Dave buries his face in Kurt’s hair and hugs him tightly. “I know. I’m sorry too…I’m so sorry.”

There they lay, Kurt warm and calm in Dave’s arms. He keeps himself awake until Kurt finally drifts off. Eventually, when he’s sure Kurt is in a deep sleep, he lets the darkness take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 8:
> 
> Prostitution  
> Dubious Consent  
> Suicide Attempt  
> Suicidal Thoughts  
> Drug Withdrawal  
> Drug Use  
> Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics  
> Unhealthy Approach to Addiction Recovery


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a few chapters to go! I've really enjoyed editing this fic, especially since I wrote it in such a short time.
> 
> Content warnings in the end notes, as usual!

**_Nine_ **

The next few days are tense and awkward. Kurt hands over all the drugs Mark gave him, as well as his phone, and plunges right back into withdrawal. Dave thinks it’s unrealistic to expect him to make it through without professional help, but Kurt still won’t have it any other way. Dave desperately needs to get him help, considering that he was actually seconds away from suicide, but Kurt makes him swear not to. He was lucky that none of his cuts had required medical attention, but Dave can’t speak for the next time, if it happens again.

Dave knows he’s going to have to make a decision soon. At some point, he’s going to have to force Kurt into rehab or at least to a doctor. Kurt will cry and scream at him and probably tell him never to speak to him again and it will fucking _kill_ Dave but he has to do it, for Kurt’s sake. He knows that.

So why is it so fucking _hard?!_

The buzz of the doorbell comes at about half eight at night, as Kurt and Dave are curled up on the sofa watching a movie – some cheesy chick flick that Dave’s forgotten the name of. He leaps up, hearing Kurt groan at the loss of heat. He’s looking a little better; still that odd grey color but the shaking is lessening, which can’t be bad.

The good mood is immediately dashed as he sees a stranger through the peephole.

“Who is it?” Kurt asks, lethargically. Dave doesn’t know how to respond. Somehow, he knows that it’s Mark without calling Kurt over to confirm it.

“It’s…” he takes a deep breath. “I think it’s Mark.” He says, pulling open the door just too late to catch Kurt’s voice ringing out sharply: _“Don’t open it!”_ As soon as he hears him, he tries to slam the door shut again, but Mark’s foot jams the way.

“I just want to talk.” He says, softly, smoothly, and Dave was right; it is him. He knows that voice. The voice that just shouldn’t sound like that, shouldn’t be so silky, it makes Dave queasy. He half expected Mark to look like a movie villain, with a cane or a bowler hat, or something else that’s ridiculously cliché. Not this, not an ordinary guy.

“Fine.” Dave says, through gritted teeth, as if he has a choice. Mark isn’t budging, and it’s not like he can just punch the guy through the small crack in the door. Besides, maybe this is a peaceful encounter; maybe Mark just wants to set things straight between them. Or maybe Dave’s been insanely optimistic. “Talk.” He grinds out, in that threatening tone he perfected in high school.

“You have something that belongs to me.” Mark says, with a polite, fake smile, as Dave pulls the door open. The anger that Dave is trying to suppress flares up, but he takes a deep breath and tells himself to keep calm.

“Kurt is not your property. He owes you nothing.” It’s much more police than telling him to _fuck off_ , but Dave hopes the message will get through anyway.

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he owes me _everything._ I took him off the streets, I saved him from all the pain and suffering; hell, I gave him a roof over his head! I gave him everything he ever wanted. What did you give him?”

Dave ignores the patronizing question. “He _paid_ for everything you gave him with his _body,_ you sick son of a bitch! You destroyed his _life!_ ” Dave can’t keep his voice down and barely restrains himself from choking the man.

“Oh, _please._ He was a kid, he didn’t have a life. A couple of days on the streets and he would have been dead anyway.” The dismissive tone he uses makes Kurt finch behind him, Dave can see out of the corner of his eye.

“He would have gone home!” Dave argues, ignoring how Kurt is starting at the ground, looking guilty. “But you stopped him. You stopped him and you poisoned him with those fucking drugs and then you sold him like an _animal_.”

Mark lets out a low laugh, a deep, awful sound that makes Dave’s fists clench and his nails dig in so hard they’ll leave imprints. He stares at Dave with a smug smile on his face and dares him to hit him.

Dave’s never been one to back down from a dare. His fist connects with Mark’s face and the man stumbles back, still smiling. It wasn’t a hard enough punch to draw blood, but Dave knows it’ll be swollen enough to piss him off in the morning.

“Kurt, you need to keep a leash on your dog.” He spits, and Dave must have been wrong, because there’s blood on the floor. Apparently he doesn’t know his own strength.

“Shut up, Mark.” Kurt speaks out from behind Dave. Dave sends him a warning glance, a message to stay back, to keep away from Mark.   
  


“Don’t you speak to him.” Dave growls at the man, “I will never let you near him again. I’m never going to let him out of my _sight._ ”

“What are you, his pimp?” Mark chuckles softly at his own joke, “Besides, I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to him.”

“And I told you not to do that, you bastard.” He barely restrains himself by grabbing Mark by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall. He knows this feeling well, knows he can’t lose it or he’ll end up doing something really fucking stupid.

“Temper, temper.” Mark tuts three times, his eyes cold and ruthless but the smile never leaving his lips. “Well, Kurt? This time last week we shared such a _moment,_ remember? When we fucked? Do you remember what you said to me, Kurtie, how you begged for me to go faster, _harder,_ how you whimpered and moaned? Do you make the same noises for him?” He turns to Dave again, “Isn’t he so pretty when he begs?”

Something snaps. “You filthy, lying, son of a bitch!” Dave leaps forward and makes for him again, but this time, Kurt holds him back with a single hand. It has nothing to do with strength; as soon as Dave feels Kurt’s fingers tightening around his arm, he just stops. His breathing is heavy and his heart is pumping with rage-induced adrenaline.

“You really should consider a leash.” Mark comments, but Dave can see the position he’s standing in; he was ready to take Dave on. He’s smaller than Dave, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be strong. 

“Get out of here.” Kurt says, his voice low and much calmer than he feels. He wants Mark gone, wants him far, far away where he doesn’t have to ever see him again. He wants all of this to be over already

Mark feigns injury, staring Kurt down with a hurt expression, “Really, Kurt? After all I’ve done for you? I’m heartbroken.”

Kurt can’t listen to it. Because Mark _has_ done things for him, no matter what the situation, no matter what a manipulative, lying bastard he is, he’s only given Kurt what he wants. And that’s the worst thing, that Kurt practically _asked_ for this, it might as well be his fault as much as Mark’s. “Leave me alone, Mark.” He says, his voice breaking a little, betraying him as always.

“And I thought we had a connection.” Mark continues to mock, ignoring, or perhaps simply enjoying the way Kurt is retreating in on himself, his eyes pained and tears starting to make them glassy.

“He said leave him _alone!”_ Dave cuts in, for Kurt’s sake. Kurt glances at him and lets out a breath of relief, his body shaking harder than ever. Mark only sneers at the two of them.

“See, here’s the thing, Davey. Kurt here, he’s one of my favorites. I don’t like losing my boys at the best of times, but him? He’s something special. I want him back, and I will get him back.” The mocking tone is still there, but there’s a not-too-subtle threat too. Well, Dave never did respond well to threats.

“Actually, Mark, you won’t.” He grinds out, stepping back and grasping Kurt’s hand. Kurt, who has steadily begun to look more and more ill, glances at him with a small smile. “Because I’m going to stop you, and I’ll protect him if it kills me. You can’t have him back.”

A muscle in Mark’s face twitches.

“You’re a sick, disgusting fuck who should be locked up, and if you don’t leave right now I’m going to call the cops on you.” Dave finishes, proud of himself for having the courage to say it, even if he doesn’t want to have to carry it through.

“Are you really?” Mark’s voice betrays no emotion but there’s definite panic in his eyes. Then, that smile again. “You seem so certain of yourself. It’s cute. But when it comes down to it, we both know that Kurt will come back to me eventually.” He sounds so fucking confident, and perhaps that’s why Dave is so angry, because deep down inside, he doesn’t believe in what he’s saying, at least not 100%.

“Not if I can help it.”

“But you can’t, can you? You couldn’t help it the other day when he turned up at the hotel, begging me to give him a customer.” Kurt’s entire body freezes there. Dave squeezes his hand tightly, and Kurt grips back so hard that it’s almost painful. “And you won’t be able to help it in the future. Kurt, you might as well come back to me right now, and save yourself the trouble.”

“I’m never coming back to you.” Kurt finally speaks again, his voice stronger than before, just from the feeling of Dave’s hand in his. The feeling that someone is there to support him, to protect him.

“Is that what you tell yourself? You forget one very important thing. I’m the only one who can make the pain go away.” The smile plays on Mark’s lips again like this is an in-joke, but Dave knows exactly what he means.

“I don’t need you to do anything for me!” Kurt snaps, letting go of Dave’s hand and clenching his fists.

“Oh, but you do.” Mark jeers, his eyes dark and angry, but the rest of his face a whole other expression. “Remember all the times you’ve begged me, Kurt? Remember every time you got to your knees and opened that pretty little mouth up to me? Every time you clung to my sheets and screamed my name?”

That does it for Kurt. He leaps forward, past Dave, and tackles Mark with his entire body. Mark’s bigger than him but the surprise and the sheer force of Kurt knocks him against the wall; Kurt’s fingers wrap around Mark’s neck and he struggles, but to no avail. Kurt has him pinned, using every ounce of energy he has, working on pure rage. Dave doesn’t know what to do, can’t think straight, and Mark’s face is turning purple. For a moment he thinks that maybe he should let this happen, let Kurt kill Mark, but _no,_ he can’t, not even a guy like Mark deserves to be murdered, and he can’t let Kurt be responsible for something like that. Mark is only seconds from breaking fee, anyway, since Kurt is inevitably weaker than him.

Dave surges forward and tears Kurt off Mark, but Mark is still struggling, his face a picture of shock, and before Dave can even register the flash of silvery metal, all he knows is pain.

There’s supposed to be a gunshot. That’s how it always is in the movies; a gunshot, the dramatic music stops suddenly and that’s when you know things just got serious. Then zoom in on the injured victim, looking confused, holding his stomach and then lifting up his hands to reveal the spectacular wound, courtesy of a great cosmetics team.

There is no gunshot. No gun at all. No dramatic music. Just the quietest, softest _squelch_ of metal sinking into flesh. It’s the kind of sound you hear when cooking dinner, not taking a life.

He turns to Mark, who looks almost as surprised as Kurt feels, even as he holds the bloodied switchblade. Before he knows it, Kurt’s throwing himself at him again, wrestling for the knife. Pain shoots through him as he tries to grab for the knife and accidently seizes the blade, slicing his palm. And then Mark is gone, running from the scene of the crime. For a second, Kurt watches him go, frozen, terrified and… _Dave._

“Dave!” Kurt screams, his throat constricting. Dave gives a groan, looking down, seeing his hands coated with blood, and then falls to his knees. Kurt falls beside him, shaking harder than ever. “Oh, god, _Dave.”_ He whimpers, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. Even 911 is difficult to dial with hands this unsteady and slippery from blood.

He speaks to emergency services through sobs and chokes. He forgets Dave’s address, he nearly throws up, but soon the ambulance is on their way.

“Kurt…” Dave chokes out, leaning back. Kurt stares at him, sweat rolling off his forehead, face deathly white. He can’t stop the tears that escape him. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows the paramedic said something, that there’s something he should do; put pressure on, try to stop the bleeding, or something, but he doesn’t want to touch the wound, doesn’t want to make it worse, doesn’t want to risk… his hand is bleeding, too, and he hasn’t been tested in over a year.

“Kurt, please…listen to me.” Dave gasps out, reaching for Kurt, but Kurt backs away, “I need to… I need to…”

“Dave, stop talking, stop. You’re making it worse… please...” Kurt begs, wanting so much to touch Dave but scared of his bleeding hand, and scared to touch Dave lest he injure him further.

“I need to… before I…” Kurt clamps his hands over his ears. He can’t hear it. He can’t listen to Dave say goodbye; not here, not like this. It should be _him_ , not Dave. _He_ should be the one bleeding to death.

Tears run down his cheeks, mixes with the blood running down from his hand and Kurt can taste it, the coppery salty taste of pain.

Even with his ears covered, he can still see Dave’s lips. It doesn’t take a lip-reader to know what Dave’s saying. Everyone knows what _I love you_ looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 9:
> 
> Reference to Prostitution  
> Reference to Dubious Consent  
> Drug Withdrawal  
> Drug Use  
> Attempted Gaslighting  
> Major Injury/Wounds


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly the end! This chapter is a bit longer, had to fit a lot in!

****

**_Ten_ **

They let Kurt ride in the ambulance, probably because they think he’s gone into shock. Maybe he has; he can’t stop shaking and his stomach feels like he’s just gotten off a rollercoaster. It’s difficult to walk, to move, to even think. Every time he tries to concentrate on the matter at hand, his mind just replays the scene in his head; the way Dave’s hands grab him and drag him away from Mark, the way Mark spluttered and coughed, leapt for Kurt with his hand outstretched and _Dave._ Dave jumping in front of him, defending him. The small, almost inaudible noise the knife made as it went in. Hell, Kurt doesn’t even know if it even made a sound or he just imagined that.

When they finally get to the hospital after what seems like hours sitting in the back of the ambulance, Kurt is maneuvered into a waiting room, whilst they wheel Dave into the E.R. There he stands for a few minutes, suddenly alone save for the strangers around him. No one pays him any mind for a little while, until he sits down, and starts to notice the looks he’s getting.

Glances, at first, then outright staring. Whispers turn to mutters and before he knows it, there’s a nurse standing in front of him, backed by two security men. His stomach tightens. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Kurt panics, stares between the three people, and tries desperately to figure out what to do. He can’t _leave,_ Dave could be bleeding to death! And shouldn’t someone be there to tell them what happened? He can’t just abandon Dave, not after everything Dave’s done for him.

“My friend–” He chokes out, but the nurse doesn’t listen, doesn’t even hear him at all.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you have to leave.” She cuts him off, looking down at him like there’s a bad smell under her nose.

But he just can’t give up that easily, “I can’t! My friend is hurt–”

The woman’s face turns sour, and she shakes her head, “If you refuse to leave, I’m going to have to ask security to escort you out.”

“Why? What–” it doesn’t take a moment to see where her eyes are fixed: his arms.

Oh, shit. They think he’s a junkie. They think he’s here to get drugs. Fuck. Shit.

“I’m not a…” he trails off. Because…it’s true, isn’t it? He _is_ a junkie. He’s an addict, and even now, even when Dave is on the brink of death, he’d still do just about anything to get a hit. His stomach turns again and he grips it with one hand, trying to keep himself from heaving.

“Sir, I’m asking you politely.” Kurt can see the way she’s looking at him, like he’s nothing. He can tell she doesn’t even see him, she just sees a stereotype, a statistic. He’s just a junkie to her, and to everyone else here who are staring and judging.

The room is spinning and Kurt wants to stand up but suddenly he _can’t,_ he’s glued to his seat and he feels so dizzy and sick and he needs Dave, he needs Dave because he can’t resist anymore, he can feel it clawing up inside of him and he needs to calm down, he needs something to calm him down and _shit shit shit._

“I…” He stutters out, and before he knows it, two security men are lifting him out of his chair onto his feet. “Please! No…Dave! _Dave!”_ he shrieks and kicks and flails his arms. One of the security men lets go but Kurt’s feet won’t support him.

Even before he passes out, he can feel himself choking on his own vomit.

* * *

As Dave drifts in and out of consciousness, he thinks about Kurt. Thinks about what he’s sacrificed for him. Thinks about why.

He hadn’t thought twice before confronting Mark to defend Kurt. He didn’t need to, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the right thing to do. Hell, he didn’t even have to consider it, it was instinct. Protecting Kurt seemed to be way up on his priority list, next to eating and breathing. Maybe even above breathing, considering his current predicament.

The moments in which he’s conscious are neither prolonged or comprehensible enough for him to get any sort of idea of what is happening. He remembers getting stabbed, the flash of metal and the impossibly intense pain in his stomach. He remembers Kurt’s face fading in front of him and trying to speak to him, trying to say goodbye.

They brought him to hospital, and he couldn’t see Kurt anymore. He’d asked the doctors, begged them to find him, he’d tried to answer their questions about his injury but he can’t remember what he’d said. Had he told them the truth? He remembers giving them names, even unlocked his phone and pressed it into someone’s palm but all the details are fuzzy.

And now he’s here. He’s alive, at least, right now. The medication is making the world spin and he’s barely awake for long enough to figure out how injured he is and whether he’ll even make it.

Oh, shit. Now that’s a terrifying thought: he could _die._

Dave forces open his eyes and blinks into the light of the hospital room, but he can’t keep them from closing again. He can hear the loud pounding of blood in his ears and the murmuring of people in his room but he can’t focus, can’t hear what the voices are saying.

There’s a dull, throbbing pain coming from his chest somewhere but it’s a muted pain that comes and goes, much like his lapses into consciousness. It’s there because he knows it should be, but somehow it’s not quite _there._

He waits for Kurt. Kurt should be here, should be beside him, but whenever he attempts to look around, all he sees are tubes and white and doctors.

Who is he kidding? Kurt’s got nothing standing between him and the drugs now; he probably ran after Mark. Why would he stick around here, and risk being tied to Dave’s injuries? Maybe even blamed for them. If he’s not with Mark, he might have been arrested.

Just the thought of Kurt being gone, being back with Mark or in jail right now, makes his heart start beating faster. He can feel sweat building on his face but for some reason he can’t lift his arms to wipe it away. It’s becoming hard to breathe, each gasp sending shooting pain to and from everywhere in his body and he wants to open his eyes, to scream for help, to thrash and struggle but he _can’t._

Machines beep around him like a cheesy medical drama, but this is very real. He can feel himself drifting away, and tries to stop it but his mind isn’t working right either and he can’t stay in focus. _Focus._ He tries to breathe and tries to think and tries to _focus,_ but it takes almost no time at all for the darkness to greet him.

* * *

When Kurt wakes up, the first words he hears are, “Mr. Hummel, I need to talk to you.”

If the doctor knows who Kurt is, what that name really means, then he doesn’t say so. Kurt opens his eyes blearily. “Where…” even as he says it, he remembers.

He’s in a hospital. Dave’s been stabbed. Dave is dying.

Is Dave dead?

What is he going to do? He can’t stay here and he can’t go home; if Dave is gone, there _is_ no home. And how is he going to pay for this? He has no insurance or money. _Shit._

A nurse flitters around him, checking the tube stuck into his arm, and putting a thermometer in his ear. He stares at her with a worried expression, like he expects her to throw him out any second.

“Mr. Hummel?” The doctor asks, trying to gain his focus again. Kurt shifts his glance back to the man, and shakes his head agitatedly.

“I…insurance…I don’t…” he stammers out, but the doctor raises a hand to calm him.

“Your medical costs are covered, Mr. Hummel.” The doctor says, dismissively, “Now, I need to discuss the situation with Mr. Karofsky.”

Kurt feels his stomach drop and before he knows it, he’s retching into a metal pan in the hands of the nurse. There’s no food to throw up, so he coughs and chokes for a few seconds whilst the doctor waits patiently and someone hands him a paper cup with water in it.

“Dave…” is all Kurt manages to murmur, before draining the water in one gulp.

“Dave was brought in with a serious stab wound, Mr. Hummel. We need to know how he got it. The police are here and they’re going to want to talk to you.”

The police? The police want to know who stabbed Dave? Does that mean he’s dead? Is he being asked to identify a murderer?

“I…I don’t…” he chokes out, “Is Dave okay?”

“He’s stable for the moment, but there’s still a risk. Can you tell me the name of the person who stabbed him?”

“Mark,” Kurt says, without a hint of hesitation, “But I…I don’t know his last name.” God, he feels useless, “I can give you an address but he’s probably gone by now.”

The doctor nods and in seconds, there are two officers by his side. Kurt reels off the address, and then answers as many questions as he can. After they’re done asking about Dave, the officers give each other a look and say they will be returning later.

Before Kurt can even begin to recover, the doctor starts to ask him about his medical history and personal details, and Kurt becomes suddenly aware of the tube stuck into his arm. Just as he’s about to ask, the doctor’s pager goes off and he raises his hand to stop Kurt speaking.

“You can ask Gabrielle here anything you want to know. I have to go, but I’ll be back later, okay?” Kurt nods as the man leaves hurriedly; he supposes he has more critical patients to deal with. He turns to the nurse, Gabrielle, who smiles reassuringly.

“What are you giving me?”

“You’re currently receiving treatment for malnutrition and dehydration. We’ve also taken some blood and urine samples and are testing you for STDs and HIV.” Kurt feels his stomach turn again, but this time he actually hurls a mouthful of watery substance into the pan that’s just been held under him. This nurse has lightning reactions.

“Thanks. Sorry.” He says, wiping his mouth with the tissue she provides after whipping the pan away from him. “But I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

“Your insurance covers all your costs, Mr. Hummel, and your family were particularly worried about you. We were informed of your situation and the doctor thought it would be a good idea to have you go through a few tests.”

It takes a second to process, but the word hits Kurt like a smack in the face. _Family._

“My family is here?” He chokes out, his throat suddenly dry.

“Your father is, yes. When Mr. Karofsky came in, he informed us of your name and told us to contact your father…” she trails off, seeing the horror on Kurt’s face. “Is there a problem?”

“No, I just… How long do I have to stay here?”

“We’re going to keep you in for another day, maybe two. A few of your results should be in by tomorrow morning, so we’ll go from there, okay?”

Kurt says nothing, just stares at the walls. He feels sick again but there’s nothing left in his stomach to expurgate. His father is here. His dad, who he hasn’t seen for six years, who believed he was dead, is here, in this hospital. And all the tests and the treatment means he must know what’s become of Kurt.

“Where’s my dad?”

“He’s in the waiting room at the moment. Would you like me to get him?”

Kurt’s immediate impulse is to answer _no,_ but logic quickly reminds him that he’s going to have to have this encounter soon, and that it’ll be more painful the longer he holds it off. So he swallows down the lump in his throat and nods. The nurse immediately walks away and the next few minutes pass in a torturous blur.

And then his dad walked into the room.

“Kurt?” It’s the same tone that Finn used on the phone; that mixture of absolute disbelief, confusion and just a slither of hope. Kurt has never felt so guilty.

“Dad.” Kurt’s voice is weak and scared. He can’t help but suddenly feel like a kid again, ready to be chastised. But there’s no yelling, no crying. Burt just stares at him son with this look of absolute disbelief, as if nothing in the world will convince him that it’s Kurt Hummel sat on the hospital bed before him.

“Oh, _god,_ Kurt.”

Kurt wants to hug him, to talk to him, but he can’t, not now, not until his mind is settled. “D-dad,” he stammers out again. What is he supposed to say to the man he’s been essentially avoiding for six years?

There’s a click from the door, and both Hummels immediately glance over. The doctor reenters the room with a grim expression, and motions the nurse over to the doorway, where he speaks quietly with her for a few seconds. Kurt notices how her face turns white and immediately assumes the worst. “Is he dead?!” He shouts, surprising his dad, “Is Dave dead?”

The doctor walks over far too slowly, “There were complications in his injury; one of his lungs was punctured.” He must be able to see the panic in Kurt face, because he lays a hand on his shoulder in a gesture that’s supposed to be comforting. Kurt jerks away automatically, backing away, and the doctor looks shocked for a second, before realizing his mistake. “We’re doing everything we can, but he’s not in any immediate danger anymore. We can’t make any guarantees, but we’re doing all we can at this point, and we’re hopeful.”

 _Not in any immediate danger. We’re hopeful._ They’re not certain, but it’s good enough for Kurt. Before he knows it, there are tears running down his cheeks and Gabrielle is passing him a box of tissues as he sobs to his dad about how great it is that Dave’s going to be okay. Burt sends him a wary look, but doesn’t discourage him.

They don’t talk much. Kurt asks for space but lets him visit for an hour that day. His dad tries to start a few conversations and Kurt goes along with it but they don’t talk about anything real. They don’t talk about what happened.

It’s still nice. Burt leaves him a phone and the next day, Kurt calls him and his dad sits with him for longer. They talk a bit more, still about nothing much but it’s…it’s nice. It’s not the same, but it’s nice.

He’s still going through withdrawal, though, so the next day he almost doesn’t let Burt in at all. Finally, an hour before visiting times are up, he calls him in tears and his dad turns up within ten minutes. He lets Kurt cry at him and squeeze his hand until he has to leave.

After three days, they say they’re going to let Kurt out, with the assertion that his test results will be forwarded to his doctor in Lima. He’s in the clear for HIV, which is miracle in itself, but he has a whole other host of health issues because of the drugs that he’d been ignoring for a while now. They’ve been giving him some sort of treatment, but Kurt hasn’t had the focus to remember what. He’s been distracted by Dave and his critical condition.

Dave woke up after a day, but not for very long. They’d kept him mostly out of it because of the seriousness of the wound. Kurt heard a whole load of medical jargon he didn’t understand, but he knows for sure that whatever state Dave is in, he’s alive.

They finally let him in the room, yesterday, but Dave was barely conscious enough to distinguish who he was, and when he came in this morning and Dave was awake, he’d ended up running back to his room and emptying his stomach. That had made the nurse particularly angry, and she threatened to put him back on the feeding tube.

It’s four now, and he’s spent the whole day working up the courage to go speak to Dave. He’s being discharged in a few hours, and he knows he can’t leave without saying goodbye.

It’s not all he has to say.

“Dave.” He doesn’t even try to disguise the relief in his voice to see Dave lying in the hospital bed, casually reading a book. It looks uncomfortable and there’s a slight pained twinge to his expression, but Kurt suspects he can’t feel much of anything right now. Both the bed sheets and a loose hospital gown cover the bandaging on his chest, but Kurt can picture it, covering his torso. “Are you okay? I mean…shit, that’s a stupid question, but you know what I mean.”

“I’m good. Well, not good. But better, I guess. I’m not supposed to sit up much and it’s going to take weeks, but they say I’ll make a full recovery.”

“I’m glad.” Kurt says, and it’s the understatement of the century, but what is he supposed to do, break into tears and cry at Dave’s feet about how happy he is that he’s okay? He can’t do that, especially with what he has to do. “I’m going back home today.”

Dave looks half shocked and half relieved. He lets out a deep breath that seems to cause him pain, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “That’s…that’s great, Kurt! I’m glad it worked out. I’m going to see my family in Lima next weekend, I could–”

“We can’t see each other again, Dave.” And now Dave’s face drops. Kurt says it a little more harshly than he intended. He was going to try and ease himself in, but he panics and blurts it out rather too bluntly.

Dave stares with scrunched eyebrows and tries to make sense of it, “Wha- Kurt, what are you talking about?”

Kurt takes a deep breath, and speaks, “You got _stabbed_. You nearly died. Because of me, you nearly died and…and you live with a prostitute and you’re going to be a lawyer…it just doesn’t fit, Dave. I don’t fit in your life. I’ve caused you so much pain and if I stay, god knows how much more damage I’ll do.”

“There are always sacrifices, I don’t–”

“No. I won’t let you hurt for me.” There’s a certain finality about his voice, and somehow, Dave knows he’s already lost. Kurt has made up his mind now. Still, he doesn’t give up.

“What if I said I was fine with hurting?” Dave’s eyes darken, but there’s something in them; a craving, almost, that Kurt recognizes. “I mean, come on, you love romance. What if I said I love you, and that being with you was all I want?”

“The things you want most in life always seem to be the worst things, don’t they?” Kurt smiles bitterly, and forces himself to keep going even though his voice is breaking and there are tears in his eyes threatening to fall, “Look, I can’t be your addiction anymore. I won’t let you hurt like I hurt, and… I’m _freeing_ you, Dave. I tried to do it before with a razorblade, but you stopped me, so you have to promise me you won’t stop me this time. Don’t call me, don’t come to see me. You can live your life without me now.”

“I don’t fucking _want_ to live without you!” Dave yells, then coughs and falls silent. He knows he’s done.

Kurt lets out what sounds like a sob, but he’s still smiling. “Spoken like a true addict.” he says, and that’s the last thing he says, before walking out of the door.

Dave would chase him, if he could leave his bed. But the door closes behind Kurt and Dave is left alone in his room.

  
He doesn’t feel free at all. If anything, he feels more trapped than ever.

* * *

The drive to Lima is a long, quiet one. Burt doesn’t want to ask his son what happened, and Kurt doesn’t want to tell him, but both of them know that the story has to come out one way or another.

Burt’s happiness at finding his son alive again is sullied only by the state in which Kurt is in. He’s been staying at a hotel near the hospital for the last few days, visiting when Kurt allows him. Every time he says goodbye, it breaks Kurt’s heart a little more because he can feel the fear there, the terror that he’ll get back and his little boy will be gone again. But Kurt has no intention of leaving, not ever. The moment he saw his father, the worst was over, and he knew he had to go home.

“Kurt, we’re going to have to talk about this–”

“Cocaine.” Kurt says, grimly. “And heroin too. I mean, I took whatever I could get. Oh, and always a shitload of vodka to take the edge off.” He probably sounds far too blasé about this, but then that’s desensitization for you.

“What?” Burt glances at his son as if he’s insane, but quickly diverts his attention back to the road. Kurt leans back into the car seat, with a sliver of a hope that it might swallow him. 

“That’s what I’m on. You want to know, right? I’m on coke and heroin. I tried to stop, I really tried but…I failed. I failed at everything.” He can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, but Burt doesn’t comment on it.

“How long?” He asks softly.

Kurt stares at the side of his father’s face, watches him as he keeps his eyes fixed on his driving. His face betrays nothing, Kurt can’t tell what Burt is thinking at all. “Ever since I left. It’s why…why I didn’t come back. I was so ashamed, Dad.”

There’s silence for a little while, and Burt still doesn’t look at him, but eventually says, “Kurt, you’re my son. There is nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive you for.”

“Nothing?” He laughs again, a low, harsh sound, “Really, Dad? Because you haven’t heard the half of it.” He sounds so acrid that Burt doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know, but he knows he has to.

He swallows audibly, “Kurt…to get the drugs…”

“Please, Dad.” Kurt whines, staring at his hands. “Don’t…don’t make me say it, you won’t…you won’t forgive me for this.”

“I told you, Kurt, I’d forgive you for any–”

“I was a whore, Dad. A prostitute.” His voice is impossibly high and he’s about to cry but this is it, he can’t stop. “I got fucked by men for drugs, for _six fucking years_. Happy now?”

Burt doesn’t have the heart to tell his son off for the swearing. Because he’s shocked. He doesn’t know why he’s shocked – he’d known as much, but still, to hear the words out loud makes it sound so _real._

He pulls over the car.

Immediate panic floods Kurt’s features and Burt stares at him in confusion. “Outta the car.” he says gently, but Kurt doesn’t budge. “Come on, buddy.”

Kurt unbuckles himself with shaking hands and gingerly steps out of the vehicle. He knows how this one goes; his dad’s going to leave him now, on the side of this road. Or maybe – maybe he wants something else. Kurt’s stomach constricts in fear; he’d been so young when he left, maybe he didn’t know his father like he thought he did. Maybe his dad was waiting until he was older. Oh, god, or what if he’d gone crazy with grief? None of this is logical but there isn’t any room for logic when you’ve been at the stage where you had to let men touch you for money, there’s just pain and anger and Kurt feels his body whole body shudder as Burt… Burt pulls him into a hug.

“D-dad.” Kurt stutters out before bursting into tears. No, Burt Hummel is a good person. He’s always been a good person and that’s why it hurt so much, that’s why he could never come back. “I’m so sorry, I’m so…so sorry, I never meant…I wanted to come home b-but I knew…God, I thought you’d _hate_ me.”

“Kurt, how could I ever hate you? You’re my son, my kid.” Kurt barely registers that his father is crying too, “I got my son back.”

“B-but…” Kurt is shaking so bad it almost hurts, “You lost your son, your perfect 16-year old son and now…now I’m back and I’m _broken._ ” It comes out more of a sob than a word but Burt understands it all the same.

“Better broken than lost.” His father whispers, letting the boy – because that’s what he is, even at 22 – cry into his shoulder. “Broken, we can fix, but lost is gone forever. God, Kurt, we thought you were _dead,_ can’t you see how amazing this is?”

“But–”

“Kurt, stop arguing with me.” Burt says, as they both get back into the car and out of the cold. Kurt wipes his face on his sleeve but doesn’t notice the shocked reaction his father has at it. “I’ve had this one a hundred times with Finn, I know the drill. You’re back, that’s all that matters. I don’t care if you wish you weren’t, I don’t care if you wish you’d died, and I don’t care what you did. You’re back, Kurt, and you’re alive. And hell, you’re gonna need a bit of fixing. Finn needed therapy, we all needed therapy–”

“Dad, I can’t be… this is going to take more than therapy, you know that, right?” he doesn’t mean to sound so shrill and whiny, but something about being around his dad seems to make it happen.

“Yes, well, I’m going to talk to that Puckerman kid about rehabs, he’s kind of the expert. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him it’s for a friend, I won’t mention you’re back.” Kurt resists asking about Puck, for now. No use piquing his curiosity when he doesn’t intend to see anyone for a while.

“Does anyone else know?” Kurt asks, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes.

“Just Finn and Carole. I made Finn swear not to tell anyone–”

“Which means half of Lima already knows.” He cuts Burt off darkly.

“Finn’s not... he’s very different from when you were kids.” Burt winces. “He probably won’t have told anyone. But you don’t have to see anyone until you’re ready.”

“After rehab.” Kurt says sternly, “I don’t want them to see me like this. I know I probably don’t look much different…” he trails off, seeing his father’s expression. Okay, so maybe he does look pretty different now. He hasn’t really been paying much attention.

They go silent for a while, until it suddenly hits Kurt, “Dave said that. About the…being broken thing. He told me this story about a picture frame and then all about Finn and the accident.”

“That’s one more thing I need to talk to you about.” Burt’s voice is even grimmer, if that’s possible.

“Finn?” Kurt asks, furrowing his eyebrows, but Burt shakes his head and takes a really deep breath.

“It’s about Dave Karofsky.” He eventually says. If he notices how Kurt’s back goes rigid in response, he doesn’t show it. “What is he to you?”

Kurt doesn’t answer; Kurt doesn’t _know._ What is Dave to him? Simply, the answer is _everything,_ but what does that even mean?

He never thought there would be something in his life more important than drugs. He never thought he’d feel the way he does about drugs about a person; that willingness to die to stay with them, the absolute reliance, the pain of withdrawal. But that’s the way he feels about Dave.

“I don’t know, Dad. He’s…a friend. God, no. That sounds so _cliché._ ” Kurt groans.

“Do you like him?” Burt asks, and it’s such a juvenile word, doesn’t even begin to describe it, isn’t even a drop in the ocean of Kurt’s feelings.

Kurt stares at his dad with wide eyes, like he’s only just realizing, and for a moment, Burt sees him, really _sees_ the Kurt Hummel he lost six years ago. The kid who cried at musicals and made gourmet food and loved decorating. The kid who sang every day and laughed and smiled and cried. The kid whose hand he’d held as they walked from his wife’s grave, who he loved unconditionally, even after he’d lost him.

“I love him, Dad.” Kurt says, and Burt knows without a doubt that it’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 10:
> 
> Reference to Prostitution  
> Drug Withdrawal  
> Vomit  
> Major Injury/Wounds


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, so I thought I had posted this final chapter weeks ago and apparently I didn't? If anyone has been reading in real time, I am so sorry! Here is the final chapter, it's been such a nostalgic experience updating and revamping this fic and I hope you've enjoyed reading it!

**_Eleven_ **

**_Seven Months Later_ **

Mercedes bursts into tears when she sees him for the first time. She’s not the only one that does, but she cries the longest, that’s for sure. She also pulls him into a hug so tight that he thinks his ribs might break, but he doesn’t mind so much, partly because he’s too busy crying as well. The last time he saw her, he was barely a head taller, and now he towers over her. Others, too, look so much smaller than he remembers – Puck had always seemed so much bigger than him but they’re nearly at eye-level now. Rachel looks positively tiny when she finally arrives from New York, but that might also be something to do with how much skinnier she is; Kurt suspects it’s the result of her attempts to become an actress, which she tells Kurt all about in great detail.

Some of the gang isn’t there for the big reunion that Finn calls. Artie’s in film school in California or something, and Brittany, to Kurt’s delight, is off on tour with Beyoncé. Still, most of the group live and work in Lima, as Kurt would have suspected. Only Mercedes and Rachel seem to be chasing the New York dream, whilst the others seem content and settled in their lives.

They crowd him and coo over him but the elephant in the room goes completely unmentioned. No one says a word about rehab, even though they’ve obviously guessed why Kurt didn’t see anyone until after six months of being discovered alive. Kurt’s former “career”, as far as he’s aware, is being kept between him, his dad, Carole and Dave; Kurt would like to keep it that way. Sure, it might be a little dishonest not to tell Mercedes and the others, but the less he’s reminded of his previous life, the better.

He’s supposed to have a fresh start, to move on from that life and leave everything behind. He isn’t allowed to go back to his apartment, though what little he’d had there was hardly worth salvaging. His dad had done it nonetheless, to add further humiliation to the situation, bringing back everything he deemed of worth. Mark had been nowhere to be seen. The police hadn’t found anything, either; he’d just disappeared off the face of the earth. By now he’d have a new name and moved his business to a new city. Kurt doesn’t particularly care, as long as he’s out of his life. He doesn’t really think about it all that much, if he’s honest. Rehab taught him to put that stuff behind him, and that’s what he’s trying to do. Every so often something will spark a memory in him and it’ll be like a domino effect into intense cravings, but he’s slowly learning to live with that. It isn’t easy; it’s harder than he could have possibly imagined, but he’s getting by.

Puck greets him with a grin, smacks him on the back and welcomes him back to the land of the living. He isn’t talking about Kurt’s return to Lima, he can tell. Later, he pulls him aside, and (in a more serious manner than Kurt ever thought Puck capable), lets him know that he was always there if Kurt needs him. It’s surprisingly comforting, considering whom it’s coming from. Sure, Kurt has his sponsor, but it’s also nice to hear that someone he can (almost) consider a friend can also understand some of what he’s been through.

His life is extraordinarily normal now. He spends most of his time in his Dad’s garage, where Finn’s teaching him all the things his Dad never trusted Kurt with when he was a kid. Finn can’t really get around the same way he did before his injuries, and Kurt thinks he’s secretly relieved that Kurt’s there to take the pressure off of Burt. He’s also a lot calmer nowadays, more laid back but somehow wiser than Kurt remembers him. He’s gained a sense of maturity that Kurt would have never thought possible for a guy like Finn, and he suspects it’s something to do with the discipline he learnt in the army. Or the horrors he faced. Kurt can have an intelligent conversation with him now and _that’s_ weird. In a way, he misses the old Finn, the Halo-playing teenager with a short temper and the tendency to act stupid, but then _that_ Finn was the one who got him into all of that in the first place.

Kurt doesn’t blame him. He might have, at one point, and god knows Finn blames himself more than Kurt could ever imagine, but Kurt just doesn’t have it in him to blame him. A few days after Kurt finally got out of rehab, Finn had appeared at his bedroom door at 10pm and proceeded to hug the living daylights out of him before breaking down into tears. The apology was late, but appreciated.

So, he goes about his mundane life with his family and the garage, and he doesn’t talk about the drugs and he doesn’t think about _Lee_ and he’s left it all behind.

Well, not all of it. There’s still Dave.

He’s been desperate to see him for months, and he’s been able to for almost a month now, since he’s been out of rehab. Hell, he’s been dying to see him ever since he said goodbye, but he knows he can’t and it’s driving him mad. The therapists all said he should cut out everything connected to his previous lifestyle, and Dave was at the centre of it in the latter parts. And yet, Dave was the one who brought him out, who rescued him. One little hello can’t hurt, right?

Kurt loves him. He knows that much, and he knows that Dave loved him too. Maybe it’s been too long to hope for Dave to still have those feelings, but Kurt has to make sure.

It’s selfish, he knows that, but a big part of him really wants Dave to take him back. A smaller, more practical part, reminds him of how unhealthy that would be, and a little guilty voice pipes up that he almost got Dave killed and doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near him.

The problem is, Kurt isn’t sure he knows the difference between addiction and love. Both make him feel amazing, both can be hurtful and both are fucking difficult to let go. A person can cause as much damage as substances can, just with a few words. So why should Kurt be allowed to love Dave, when he can’t have coke? It just doesn’t make sense to him, on such a base level that whenever he feels happy about anything nowadays, he can’t help that little twinge of guilt that accompanies it. He’s talked about it a hundred times in therapy, and he _knows_ the difference, he’s just not quite able to convince himself yet.

Still…he has to know. He can’t just let Dave go without a fight. He’s fought so hard for everything, _for_ Dave. _Because_ of Dave, he’s here, and he’s _alive._

Doesn’t that mean something?

* * *

It takes him three tries to find the house. The GPS brought him to the right road, but none of the houses have numbers on, so he doesn’t know where Dave lives. He looks for moving boxes but sees none. The result of his cowardice, he realizes. If he’d come earlier, he’d have been able to tell.

The first door he knocks on opens to reveal an old lady. She looks him up and down; eyeing the clothing that’s just a little too tight and the perfectly styled hair.

“Excuse me, do you know where David Karofsky lives?” That just about does it, the woman flicks her nose up at him and glares.

“There’s none of your sort living around here.” She says snottily, and slams the door.

Kurt tries to stop the smile from passing his face, but he fails, even allowing a short laugh out. Her prejudice is delicious, not because she’s clearly a homophobic old bat, but because she had seen Kurt as _Kurt_ , the camp gay guy, not Kurt – _Lee,_ the prostitute, the drug addict. He never thought he’d be happy to be a victim of homophobia, but here he is, grinning like an idiot.

The next door proves less offensive, if just as fruitless. Kurt catches him just as he’s leaving, a suit jacket thrown over his shoulder. The guy simply shrugs and says he works a lot, is barely ever here. He tries calling his wife out, but she’s in the shower or something. He mumbles an apology and Kurt thanks him genuinely for his time.

As soon as he gets to the next house, he knows. He vaguely recognizes the car in the driveway from his high school days, even though Dave had left it in Lima while he was living in the city.

He walks up to the door with his heart pounding and rings the doorbell. The noise of it startles him and he mentally tells himself to calm the fuck down. There’s a shuffling and banging of doors from inside, then a rattle of keys before the door opens and Dave Karofsky stands there in front of him.

“Kurt!” he says, obviously shocked. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt and jeans, but Kurt thinks he’s never looked better. Maybe that’s because this is the first time he’s really _seen_ him, unclouded, clear.

“Hi.” Kurt chokes out, trying and failing to think of something clever to say.

“I… Oh my God.” Dave is staring at him with absolute disbelief. Kurt’s not sure why. “You look… You look…” He clears his throat. “Amazing. Wow.”

The feeling of blood rushing to his face isn’t an alien one when he’s around Dave. “Thank you. You too.”

Dave tries to look away, but he can’t believe the difference in Kurt’s appearance. He’s put on weight, not _enough_ as far as Dave’s concerned, but he no longer has the hollow corpse-like air to his face, and he doesn’t quite look like he could be snapped at any moment. His hair is combed and styled to perfection, shiny and soft like Dave remembers from high school, but pulled up and back the way Dave had only seen a few times. Not even to mention his clothes; he’s a little more conservative than high school Kurt, but Dave’s sure whatever he’s wearing is in fashion. He wonders briefly if any of Kurt’s old clothes would still fit him, but dismisses the idea quickly. Then he realizes he’s been gawping like an idiot for too long and gulps loudly. “So, you’re out of rehab?” An obvious question; Dave feels like slapping himself for asking, but Kurt responds with a smile.

“Yeah. Five months, but I made it. I still go to a group thing, and I have a sponsor who I call when I need to. The rehab is really keen on keeping in touch so I’m going to go to a recovery meeting every month or so, where they get you to talk to people in the clinic and help them.” Dave nods through his speech, and then looks embarrassed and clears his throat again.

“Shit, sorry, come in.” He spins on his heels, “Didn’t mean to start talking in the doorway like that. Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure. Coffee?” Dave nods, “Milk, no sugar unless you have sweetener.” He says with a hint of a smile.

“I have Sweet'n Low.” Dave admits, a little reluctantly, to Kurt’s confusion. Why would Dave be ashamed to have Sweet'n Low? Unless…unless he only has Sweet'n Low because he knows Kurt likes it? No, that’s ridiculous. Kurt scolds himself for even thinking about it.

“Then one Sweet'n Low would be fantastic.” Dave leads him into the living room and he sits, tentatively, staring around him. “This place is gorgeous.” He says, not without a hint of envy.

“My dad helped me with most of the costs. He’s way too generous to me.” Dave confesses, his voice carrying from the kitchen, “I just hope I can pay him back soon.”

“You got a job here?” Kurt asks, genuinely curious. He’s also silently judging the decoration in this room and trying very hard not to think about the little improvements he’d make if it he lived here with Dave. It’s odd how Kurt only stayed with him a few weeks and yet he felt so _at home_ with Dave and everything Dave owned, as if he’d just settled in effortlessly. It’s the opposite of what happened with Finn; Dave hadn’t minded the little things Kurt changed when he wasn’t moping about, hell, he’d welcomed them. And Kurt didn’t feel the need to compromise himself at all with Dave. It’s odd, because he remembers _Karofsky_ and he’d never dream of acting that way with the guy he knew in high school. But Dave is…Dave is laid back and calm now, though way too emotional sometimes, but also kind and caring and everything he’d never have suspected.

Dave nods, pouring water into two mugs, and then realizes Kurt can’t see him through the wall. “Yeah, a placement at a law firm. Same as before, but higher up. What about you?”

“Working for dad, for now, while I search for jobs.”

“Jobs in Lima?” He walks in with Kurt’s coffee and his own, setting the two mugs down on coasters. Kurt smiles gratefully and thanks him, before shrugging in response to his question.

“Yeah…I know it sounds stupid, but I want to stay here.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid.” Dave says, immediately, with a mirrored shrug. “I mean, sure, it’s _Lima._ But it’s not too bad here.”

Kurt makes an _hmm_ in agreement, “At least there’s no…” and then he trails off, as if suddenly wary of what he was saying, and stares anywhere but Dave, his face paling slightly.

“Bright lights and paying customers?” Dave asks, quietly. It seems far too quiet all of a sudden. The elephant in the room that both of them were trying to ignore starts stomping around.

“Yeah. Especially the paying customers part.” Kurt echoes his words from what seems like so long ago. He thinks about where he was the last time he said it, _who_ he was. Everything about him feels different now, like he’s a whole new person, but there’s one thing that hasn’t changed in the slightest, and that’s what scares him more than anything.

They fall into a tense silence, but Dave breaks it quickly, trying to avoid awkwardness. “So, how’re things with the family?”

“Weird. I mean, it’s great seeing them but it’s been six years, you know? And it’s not like I ever had much in common with my dad before I left. It just seems so much more obvious now that I’m not a kid. He suggested getting me an apartment since according to my therapist, living the same way I did when I was sixteen isn’t the best idea. But, I don’t know, dad also doesn’t seem to want to leave me on my own…I’m rambling, aren’t I?” He breaks off with a smile, and Dave lets out a chuckle.

“A little bit, yeah. But it’s nice. I mean, I’ve kind of missed you… is it okay to say that?” He leans back on his hands and surveys as Kurt’s eyes widen a tad. Kurt lets out a sigh, like he’s relieved for some reason, and stares at Dave with such a look of utter joy that Dave feels his breath catch in that absurdly sappy way.

“I’ve kind of missed you too. God, Dave, I’ve missed you so much, you can’t even imagine. I… I really wanted to contact you but they said it was a bad idea. And after what I _said…_ ” He gives a low laugh, “I spent almost as much time craving you as the fucking drugs.” The swearing doesn’t suit the new Kurt; it sounds foreign, like someone else is speaking for him. It’s a glimpse back into _Lee,_ but Dave supposes that’s what happens when you spend so much time as someone else; you can’t just change at a snap of the fingers. Lee is a part of Kurt now, maybe not a part he wants to remember, but a part nonetheless.

“You can’t know how sorry I am for pushing you away like that. I just…I was so fucking scared, Dave! You got _stabbed_ and it was all my fault, and I just couldn’t bear the idea of you dying because of _me!”_ His voice slowly gets higher and higher, “I know I was stupid to say we shouldn’t see each other and…god, I understand if you want nothing to do with me but I just…” he’s babbling and he knows it, but he has to get it off his chest while he still can. “I just wanted to make things right.”

There’s silence for a moment, whilst Kurt flushes red and stares into his mug, and Dave’s eyes stay fixed on him. Eventually, Dave clears his throat, and tries to think of something to say, but falls short. There are so many things he _wants_ to tell Kurt but somehow he can’t find the words right now _._ “The prices are horrendous at the moment.”

“Sorry?” Kurt’s face changes in an instant to confusion.

“Uh, house prices. You said you were thinking of getting an apartment.” Dave says, as if he hadn’t even heard Kurt’s speech. “But…I mean, with your dad already having Finn living with him, I don’t know if he’d be able to…sorry, I shouldn’t interfere.”

“No, it’s not…I mean, you’re right.” Kurt sounds as bewildered as he looks, staring at Dave like maybe he’d just had a breakdown. But maybe Dave has a point with this, so he continues with the strange small talk. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to help him, either. I suppose I’ll just stay at home for now, until I find work.” He fiddles with the handle on the coffee mug nervously, then brings it to his lips and blows on it. Dave’s eyes follow the action, then dart away.

It takes three sips of coffee for Kurt to realize they both have mugs. Actual porcelain mugs “You bought crockery?” he asks, trying to sound mocking but somehow just coming across curious. Dave looks a little shocked, and there’s an unmistakable blush on his cheeks. “Expecting guests?”

“Just the one.” He replies, nervously. His stomach feels suddenly unsettled as he avoids Kurt’s gaze. “Only, I was kind of hoping he’d stay.”

“Stay?” Kurt quirks an eyebrow and gives a teasing smirk “That’s a little presumptuous, isn’t it? This isn’t even a date.”

But this isn’t time for jokes. This is the moment where Dave needs to make it very clear what he actually wants, so that there’s no further confusion, “No, I meant…Kurt, stay here with me. Don’t get an apartment.”

Kurt breathes in a little too suddenly and chokes on air. As he recovers and flicks his hair apprehensively, he can feel his heart beating far too fast in his chest. He stares at Dave to try and work out if he’s serious, if he’s really suggesting what Kurt thinks, and he realizes Dave’s completely sincere. He honestly wants him to stay…for good? “But…are you sure? I mean, after everything, you want to _live_ with me?”

“Yeah. If you want to. Not right away, of course, you probably want to be with your family and all, but…I mean, we can go out for dinner? And do the whole dating thing? It’s the wrong order and all, but it’s not like we’ve done things conventionally so far.” It’s a rush of questions and hopes and Kurt feels so happy he might burst into tears at any minute, “I’ve spent the last few months…well, apart from doing exams and shit…I’ve been researching how to, uh, deal with…situations like yours. Not that I needed google to know how badly I fucked up-”

“Dave, you don’t need to apologize…”

“No, I really do.” Dave interrupts, firmly. “You relapsed and I lost my mind out of jealousy and anger and I…there is _no_ excuse for how I acted, for how I treated you, for what I said…there’s no excuse and I’m not going to make one. I acted horribly and I’ve had issues for a long time, clearly. I mean, this whole thing came about because of my fucked-up reaction to a six-year old trauma…” Dave takes a deep breath, and Kurt takes the opportunity to intervene. He gently places a hand on Dave’s shoulder.

“I’m grateful for that.” Kurt murmurs, quietly. Dave nods at him.

“Yeah, I don’t… I don’t regret that it led me to you, but there are parts of my life that I do regret. I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“Oh?”

“I…I started having some pretty dark thoughts and I’m old enough now that there’s really no excuse for not getting help, I guess. Anyway, therapy. It’s really…good. It’s good. So…I know it’s kind of late for it, but if you feel the same way… I want a new start, you know?”

Kurt knows. And he wants it too, wants to feel the rush of a first date, getting to know Dave all over again, without the haze of a high hanging over him. He wants to learn about Dave’s job, his interests, the kind of thing they never really got round to talking about. He wants to be with Dave, _romantically_ , to give himself over fully to Dave in a way that he never could when he was a junkie. He wants a relationship, something stable in his life. That can’t be unhealthy, can it?

“A fresh start.” Kurt repeats, trying to hold back tears, and sound vaguely collected, “I’m definitely up for that. We can start anew and all that. And dinner sounds great. When do you want to do it?”

“Tonight?” Dave tries not to sound too eager and fails. “Or whenever.” he adds afterwards, but Kurt just chuckles at his attempts to be suave. He leans over slowly, cautiously, and presses onto Dave’s lips in a soft, closed-mouth kiss.

“Meet me at Breadstix at seven?” Kurt says when they pull apart, his fingers brushing Dave’s shoulder in small circles. Dave can only nod and watch as Kurt hops to his feet and starts to leave.

A few minutes later, Dave finds himself wondering if Kurt actually needed to go, or if he was just being dramatic. After all, he didn’t even finish his coffee.

* * *

When Dave arrives at Breadstix at 6:56, Kurt is sat in the waiting area, clutching a soda of some sort. He sees Dave and his eyes flick upwards, a sneaky smile playing on his lips.

“Mr. Karofsky?” He asks innocently, those wide eyes beckoning Dave into something. It sounds familiar, and then Kurt recognizes the tone. The last time he’d used it, he’d said _Mr. Adams,_ though. Dave catches his drift far too quickly to be considered normal, and leans on one hip, smirking.

“I’m your guy.” He echoes their first conversation like Kurt is prompting, and he knows he got it correct because Kurt’s mouth twitches into a broader smile.

“Is that right? Well, then, I guess it’s time for you to wine and dine me. Though no alcohol for me, I’m not allowed.” He waves his drink and Dave chuckles lightly, drawing closer and inhaling nervously before leaning down and kissing Kurt gently on the lips. When he pulls back, Kurt is bright red and beaming in that adorable way of his.

Dave clears his throat, forgetting that they’d been in the middle of their little skit. “So, uh, what do I call you?” he asks, trying to remember if that’s actually what he asked him the first time he met _Lee_.

A stifled laugh, “You can call me whatever you want, big boy.” Kurt wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“What about Kurt?” Dave questions softly, settling beside Kurt and leaning into his side. Kurt slides his hand over and grasps Dave’s, resting his head on Dave’s shoulder. A few people are beginning to stare, but neither of them gives a damn.

“Kurt is fine.” Kurt says, his voice a little choked, but full of amusement. He squeezes Dave’s hand hard and kisses his cheek, “Kurt is _wonderful_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 11:
> 
> Reference to Prostitution  
> Reference to Drug Use  
> Reference to Drug Addiction  
> Reference to Rehab
> 
> And it's over! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! 😊


End file.
